


The Rose of Persia

by ClaryF



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Escape, Eventual AU, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Fugitives, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Persia, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Susan Kay, Travel, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-02-07 09:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18617563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaryF/pseuds/ClaryF
Summary: A young Englishwoman and the infamous Angel of Death are thrust together by the bloodthirsty Queen of Persia. Stuck together in a land of mystery and death, the two unlikely companions must survive unimaginable odds in hopes of escaping.





	1. Prologue

January 1840, Rouen, France – Erik’s POV

He walked through the dark night, alone, away from his mother’s fear and disgust, away from all that harmed him. When she woke up he would be gone, he would never burden her with his horrible visage again. She would be free to marry the doctor who so loved her and he would not be in the way of their happiness. Perhaps they would have children, beautiful children with perfect little faces, children that his mother could love. Or so he hoped. 

He never meant to cause his mother pain, he wished only for her contentment and if her happiness lies with another man and another family, he would not stand in the way; could not. His mother had given him life and though he’s rather be dead he understood enough to know that she had sacrificed a lot in raising him instead of drowning him as a babe and he, as the courteous gentleman he had been raised to be, intended to repay her for that sacrifice. That is why he’d left… well, that and the fact that his mother intended on sending him to a mental asylum to be rid of him. He did not want to be in a cage for the rest of his life, thought to be a madman, tortured by people who thought they could heal him. No, he would leave with his freedom and nothing else. It was not right to take anything that his mother had provided except the clothing on his back and his mask. She would forget him and he would die. It was what she had wanted, wasn’t it?

The night was cold and bit painfully into his face. The wet clothes he carried with him were not nearly enough to shield him from the cold that permeated the air. His jet-black hair clung painfully to his face, wet with slow as his eyes of molten gold scanned his surroundings. He could hear the wind howl between the dense canopy above him and far away he heard a lone wolf cry out, followed shortly by the echo of his pack. 

The snow on the ground was unmarred by human footsteps and, for a moment he felt a sense of guilt at being the one to destroy such perfection. Yet he trudged on, aware that he should go as far from his home as possible. There were hunters in these woods who would kill a creature like him on sight and that was not a pleasant way to die. He may have been willing to leave the land of the living but he still had standards and dying like a wild beast did not meet those standards. He also knew it would be foolish to fight a grown man with a gun so he continued his path to nowhere in particular, just away from the sleepy town he’d once called home, the home that had never welcomed him. 

He was grateful that it was too dark for anyone to see him, knowing that it kept him safe. The irony stuck him then, that the darkness that was feared by most was the only thing keeping him away from humanity and he realised in that moment that darkness was his friend shielding him from the garish light that revealed all truths, in which no one can hide. Embraced by darkness he could roam without fear of mockery or scorn, he was free.

Only Sasha would have missed him, but Sasha was dead, killed because of him. He wanted to laugh at the sheer unfairness of it all but if there was one thing he’d learnt in his short life it was that life was not fair. It was painful and brutal and vicious and he hated it. Sasha was innocent, just a kind friend, unable to judge based on appearance, capable only of unshakable love and loyalty, and for that crime her life had been cut short. To love him was a crime punishable by death, he could not be loved and he could not risk loving anyone, for their death would be another guilt he could not bear to carry. 

He allowed himself then, for the first time in a very long time, to cry. To cry for the home he’d left behind, the friend he’d lost, the love he could not bring himself to feel. As the tears streamed down his cheeks and his feet continued to move he begged God to kill him. For the God who clearly so despised him to strike him down and end his miserable existence. He tripped over a rock hidden under the snow and fell forward, his leg hitting the rock and a gash forming on his leg which began to bleed.

Was this His plan then? To allow me to bleed to death in the snow, so close to the home I was trying to escape? Was this His final punishment? He no longer doubted God’s cruelty and capriciousness. No all loving God would allow suffering like the one he suffered. Perhaps there was no God and everything that had occurred in his life was but a string of unfortunate coincidences. Whatever the answer, he would find out soon as he could feel Death breathing down his neck, its cold touch on his shoulder. 

He laughed bitterly as he dragged himself to a tree. He would be dead by morning but he planned to die with dignity and sprawled in the snow just would not do. Sitting against his final resting place he wondered what his crime had been that had lead him to this moment. He could not think of anything he could have done to lead to this end, this lonely, miserable end. He supposed he would always be an outcast, shunned by everyone he met. Perhaps even the Devil would turn him away and he would be left in limbo, locked out of the afterlife due to the mistake of his birth. At least it will be over soon, and with that thought he fell into an uneasy sleep, wondering if blood loss or hypothermia would kill him first.


	2. Mazandaran

Spring 1851, Tehran, Persia – Erik's POV

Erik watched the sun setting with a critical eye. Not the most beautiful he had seen in Tehran that spring but ultimately a step up from the dull winter dusks with their lack of kaleidoscopic colouring. This one was decent though slightly tasteless, lacking in the pink and purple hues that were vital for a perfect sunset. It was not worth painting; a shame as tomorrow he would begin his journey to Mazandaran. There, there would be no time for his entertainment and only work would fill his days until he could return to his house in Tehran.

It was important for him to keep an eye on his workers. His palace would be the envy of all other kings and sultans, or so he hoped, but with the imbecilic ignoramuses, he was forced to work with he often wondered if it would end in the perfection he dreamed of. The masked man yearned for perfection in all things he created; no, not yearned, demanded. Though his figure would always lack it, everything he created could be made of it. However, perfection was always a work in progress. His prided palace was first designed when he was a child of eight, ingrained perfectly in his memory through years of torture with the gypsies and humiliation in Russia until he could redesign it, perfecting it with the skills the old master mason, Giovanni, had taught him. Now, after twelve years his masterpiece would be completed and the world would finally glimpse his genius. 

A knock on the door disturbed him from his musings. With an angry shout, Erik allowed entrance, expecting a terrified, scurrying servant so he was shocked to find the Daroga at the door. The Chief of Police was dressed impeccably as always in his traditional Persian garb but Erik could see the premature aging that permeated his otherwise proud demeanour. His dying son and deceased wife had made him more cynical and world-weary. Once again, Erik mourned the poor boy, the only child to not fear him despite the many warnings from his those who cared for him while his father was away. The boy's death would hurt him greatly, he knew, though he chose not to dwell on such matters until they came.

"May I trouble you for some tea, my friend?" The Daroga's tone set him on edge but Erik gestured toward the divan. 

As Erik made his way to the kitchen he discarded his coat and cravat leaving him only with his linen shirt and breeches and swapped his threatening black mask for a softer white one. The Persian was trustworthy and considered him a friend so he posed no threat to Erik in the current moment. 

As he began boiling water in his samovar his thoughts roamed to the odd tone in the Daroga's voice. Something was wrong. The Daroga had told him he was leaving for Ashraf to see his son and thus his continued presence was concerning. What could be so important that it would keep a father from his dying son? Even as he prepared the tea he could not help but worry. Persia was a dangerous place, despite his foolhardy actions Erik knew that very well, and though he did not care much for his life he did enjoy the luxury he bathed in and did not wish to part with it soon. To see the concern in the Daroga's face only served to heighten his unease, because if a man whose job was to watch him was worried, the cause of the concern would undoubtedly fall upon him as well. 

When he returned to the parlour, he found the Daroga deep in thought as well, with a concerned frown upon his face, which only acted to enhance the masked man's agitation. The Daroga's brooding was not unusual, especially when thinking of his son but years in the Persian Court had taught him to conceal his emotions so nothing could be used against him in future. However now, Erik could read him like an open book. This unnatural change was something Erik did not like; such a quick change could only come from a very sudden change that would leave one unable to process what was going to happen.

"Why are you not at home, Nadir?" Erik asked, startling the Daroga out of his reverie. Erik knew it was not only because Nadir had not noticed him but also because he ever used the man's name, preferring instead to use his given title. His name was only used in times of urgency or comfort. "Should you not be with your son?" He continued as he handed Nadir a cup of tea and sat on his own chaise lounge.

"I could not go." Erik could feel the distress in his voice as he gripped the teacup tightly and was at that moment sure that his trepidation was more than simply concern for his offspring. "The Shah has ordered I stay for a while longer as he wishes for me to keep an eye on you while you are here."

"Tell the moron that, as he well knows, he has ordered me to leave for Mazandaran tomorrow morning. Therefore, your remaining here is pointless." Erik stated in response, taking a sip of his tea, annoyed at the man-child's pathetic memory. At Nadir's lack of response, Erik finally understood, "Ah, so he no longer wishes for me to go. What has changed his mind so suddenly? Has he bored already of that new girl of his and wishes for new magic tricks for me to entertain him until he finds another? Or is he perhaps she was bored of him. I cannot imagine such a man to be very enter- "

"Erik," The Daroga interrupted, much to Erik's chagrin, "you must stay by order of the Khanum. She wishes to see you and I'm led to believe she has a gift. You know the Shah does not trust you around his mother. He believes you would use her- "

"To gain more power. Yes, I am aware of his accusations toward me, I am not deaf." Erik interjected, laughing in amusement as he drank his tea. The interrupting and bickering was not unusual between the two men as they both enjoyed infuriating the other. "I am also not blind Daroga and am perfectly aware of her beauty." At the scandalised look on the Persian's face, Erik laughed once again and continued, "I am, however, also aware of her manipulative ways and despite her exquisiteness I would not touch her with a ten-foot pole. The woman is repugnant. You mentioned something else though, a gift. What do you know, Daroga?"

"I know nothing other than what I overheard the guards saying. She wishes to give you a gift but what it is, I do not know. Perhaps she merely wishes for another entertainment?" The Daroga was lying. Nadir knew what the Khanum had planned and though Erik wanted nothing more than to force it out of the blasted Persian he could sense that the man would remain tight-lipped. It was not as though Erik wished to torture the man as well, his existence was valuable to him and he wished to keep the poor fellow alive. 

"No," Erik finally stated, rising from his seat. He walked toward the window and stared into the dark abyss of night, the moonshine reflecting off his mask, giving him an almost ethereal glow, making him look truly like his title: An Angel of Doom. "If the Khanum wished for a new torture chamber she would not be discreet, she would most likely start describing what she wanted to the last detail. I often wonder why she requests my expertise if she already knows what she wants. But my resentment towards the Khanum is of no consequence at the moment. There is something more, something she is hiding. You know what it is, Daroga," Sensing the Persian's imminent denial he continued, "I know you do. But no matter, I shall undoubtedly learn in time. When does the cursed woman wish to speak to me?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. I will come here to escort you as usual." The Persian responded immediately, to which Erik waved his hand dismissively from his perch near the window. "But Erik, I feel like you may not be able to return to Mazandaran as soon as you wish. Do not ask me to expand, my friend, there is no more information I can give, but you shall have to wait longer than you wish."

Erik sighed dejectedly and chose not to respond, knowing that doing so would be useless. His palace would be delayed and most likely, parts would have to be removed as the construction workers always managed to make mistakes. He only hoped such a delay would be worth it, though he could not imagine how such a thing could happen. What could be more valuable than his greatest pride, the only child he would ever sire? 

"When will you be able to leave for Ashraf then?" He asked, at last, turning back to face the Persian man before him.

"I do not know. Hopefully in five days though I dared not ask. The Shah does not take kindly to such requests." Nadir replied quietly, his grief infiltrating the air of the parlour, making it hard for Erik to think rationally. This open display of emotion from the Persian left Erik feeling vulnerable and he didn't know whether to feel pity or annoyance.

"I have something I have been meaning to give you, Nadir." Erik stated, walking to a bookcase and opening a hidden compartment. He removed a small vial and placed it into the Daroga's trembling hands. "It's a painkiller of sorts. It should help your son with the pain, especially when he wishes to sleep. Give him no more than a spoon full every nine hours. It is potent and too much could kill him. If it is effective, come back to me and I shall make more."

"Thank you." The Daroga muttered, overcome with emotion. Erik shuffled uncomfortably, an uncharacteristic gesture for him, who was always confident and elegant in his posture. He was sure the blasted Daroga had noticed his childish behaviour and though the man made no comment, Erik felt embarrassed by his display of weakness. He was a man of grace and felt no measly mortal emotion! So why was this display of gratitude so very powerful to the point where he was forcefully returned to the behaviours of his five-year-old self? "I shall leave you to your work now, my friend. Thank you once again for this, I'm truly grateful." And with that final statement he walked to the door, Erik trailing behind him, intent on playing the polite host despite his mortification at his previous actions. As Erik opened the door for Nadir, the man turned to give one last warning "This gift of the Khanum's, you will not like it but do not refuse it, it may just be your salvation." And with that last remark, he turned the corner and was gone, leaving Erik wondering what he meant. 

Erik turned back into his house and returned to the window. Though the sunset was average, the full moon that shone brightly was truly a sight. Erik walked quickly to his room to retrieve his art supplies and returned to the same spot. The art came to him as if an ancient song ingrained in the hearts of all beings. Colours moulded together into a perfect blend or dark hues so common in the night, and the moon and stars shone through, beacons of hope for the lost. Hours later, as he began to pack up his equipment, he looked up and saw the large figure of a Caspian tiger in the distance. Though he did not know why, he added its silhouette to the background of the painting and only then, as the morning began to dawn, did it truly seem complete.


	3. Travels

Spring 1851, Persian Desert – Selena’s POV

The cage bars rattled as the wheels of the caravan hit another hidden rock. Selena’s sunburnt skin protested, agonised at the sudden movement that chafed her already sensitive flesh. Her once long raven hair had long ago become lifeless due to the heat. Only her bound wrists were safe from the blazing sun but even they had been rubbed raw by the rough rope that fastened them. 

Her wrists had been bound after her numerous escape attempts in which she viciously attacked her captors. The painful welts on her back from the beatings she would receive after each recapture were a painful reminder of her failure. Her ninth attempt had been her most successful, but it had been in that attempt that she learnt that her likelihood of survival was very low to non-existent by herself, especially in the middle of a desert. It had been her final escape, knowing that it would be futile to attempt another, for even if she was not found, she would surely die of thirst or a heatstroke. 

In retrospect, she realised that she had been allowed to escape. These men knew this desert but she did not and with the tracks they made instantly covered by sand she could not retrace her steps back home. 

Her escape had been silent. At that point, she was only bound by ropes, the cage being used to hold a now deceased criminal, though the crime he was accused of she would never know. He had died during her time away from the camp and she doubted it was of natural causes. The bloodshot eyes and bruised neck made her suspect that an angered guard had strangled him. She often sensed their annoyance at the criminal’s comments despite her not understanding any of her kidnappers, perhaps this time his comment had caused more than just annoyance and one of the guards had delivered his wrath upon the arrogant man. 

The day prior to her escape she had tugged at her binds until her wrists bled but had succeeded in her attempts. The blood softened the ropes and made it easier to slide them off, pain ignorable when able to taste the sweet fruit of freedom. She waited for an hour to make sure none awakened and then ran to the supply caravan, stealing as much water and food as she could before wrapping it all in a piece of cloth and fleeing into the cool night. She briefly considered stealing a horse but that would be just another creature to keep alive and she could not afford such a burden. 

She walked for hours through the never-ending sand dunes, hoping that her path was true. Even as morning dawned she continued walking, knowing that she had to put as much distance between her and her captors as possible since they had the benefit of steeds. They would soon be looking for her and she feared the consequences should she be caught again. Their search for her would undoubtedly delay them and she had seen by the abandonment of one of their own, who had been sick with fever, that they would not take kindly to any delay. Their inhumanity towards one of their own was evident in their unfeeling gazes and she feared for her life. With dread and adrenaline on her side, she walked faster than before. 

By noon, hunger and thirst were beginning to hinder her movement so she removed some water and dried meat from her makeshift cloth bag and continued walking, still too afraid to stop. By nightfall, her blistered feet and tired mind begged her to stop and under the shelter of a small bush she fell into an uneasy sleep.

She awoke with panic gripping her heart, the cause of which she did not understand until she was faced with a mighty cobra, slithering over her body. Its apparent disinterest in her was relieving but she remained motionless until it was well away from her person, lest any movement startle it. When she deemed it safe she rose, the morning sun quickly heating the blessedly cool night. 

The days continued in a similar fashion and by the thirteenth morning she arrived at the horrifying realisation that she no longer had any water. Dread settled in her stomach. She knew well that she would not be able to survive for more than three days without water but with the heat and constant walking, she was aware that the water she had consumed was evaporating quickly from her body, so the three-day rule would likely be lowered to two if she was very lucky. 

For an entire day, she wandered desperately searching for water. By evening she knew she had lost her way, but her desperate struggle for survival overpowered her need to find her family. The vast expanse she found herself in however had nothing. Not even a cactus that promised nourishment should she be able to crack its prickly exterior. At nightfall, she collapsed in the middle of a large sand dune, her weak limbs unable to carry her any longer without sustenance. Her last thoughts were that of prayer, a desperate plea for mercy as darkness consumed her. 

Morning shed hope upon Selena’s frail body. In the distance, she saw her miracle that the dark had not allowed her to see the night before. 

Water! 

She saw it glistening amongst the lush trees, a paradise of life amongst the barren desert of death that surrounded her. She thanked her Christian God for the mercy he had bestowed upon her as she walked towards her salvation. The agony she felt from her welts and burns disappeared as her body screamed for the revitalising power of water. Her blessed survival directly ahead of her, the oasis a siren intent of drowning a mesmerised sailor. 

She walked for five hours without losing hope. The oasis was right ahead of her in the horizon, she could almost touch it with her fingertips. By the seventh hour she began once again to weaken. Why was it always so far, never getting closer? Was this punishment from God for some unknown crime she had committed? As her knees buckled in desperation for rest she remembered what her father used to tell her about the heat: when a person, dehydrated, is subjected to too much heat the mind will begin to hallucinate, imagining what the body wishes for the most, water. 

It was all a beautiful illusion then. She had expended the remainder of her energy on a figment of her imagination. Tears fell down her cheeks as she came to the horrifying realisation that she would die in the desert, alone, her flesh eventually consumed, her bones would turn to sand and become part of the land that had destroyed her. 

She thought finally of her family. They would never know what became of her, they would search for her for a long time, unaware that she was dead. There would be no requiem, no funeral march for her amongst the vast expanse of the unknown desert she had found herself in. She would die alone and unloved in a foreign country. Why? What is my sin, oh Lord? Even as a shadow of a man filled her vision and her world turned black she cried.

When she awoke she first felt pain. Her head throbbed and her skin burned. Groaning, she opened her sea-green eyes, only to subsequently close them as blinding light filled her vision. Am I dead? 

With her eyes closed she listened to the sounds around her and was horrified to hear the familiar nuances of her captors’ alien tongue. A mix of relief and desperation fell upon her at the realisation that they had found her. She was not dead at least but her fate amongst the unknown men could be far worse. She still did not know what they wanted from her. She assumed she was being given to someone as they had not touched her with the exception of the beatings so what did their employer want from her? 

A loud clang startled her, forcing her eyes open as survival instincts took over. She noticed she was in the cage that once held the only other prisoner, though he was nowhere in sight. The group was not moving, which led her to believe they were waiting for her to wake up. The man who had hit the hilt of his blade against the cage bars sneered and spat something at her, which, despite her not knowing their language made her assume he was uttering some rather ungentlemanly words. 

However, these men were not like the gentlemen she was used to. They were rougher and more savage, with none of the soft kindness that was familiar. As she watched them, though, she noticed that despite their darker skin they were not so different from the men she knew. Ergo, these men were perhaps not so different from Western aristocrats, merely bound in a different, more dangerous world. 

For a moment, she pitied them, though it was quickly smothered by hatred as she saw the man removing the dreaded cane that had caused her so much pain from the back of his horse’s saddle. This time she suspected they would beat her with more force than ever before and as tears pooled to her sore eyes, she forced them down. She would not give them the satisfaction!

The first man opened the cage doors and dragged her out. Though her mind was lucid her body was still weak and her legs gave in immediately, forcing the guard to drag her to another man. The second man held her up as the first reached for the cane. She did not know how many times they hit her, she lost count after she reached twenty-five. She could feel the blunt force of wood striking her spine and ribs, cracking open her previous welts allowing blood to pour down her back. Despite her resolution to stay strong she began to cry, the pain and misery of her situation haunting her. Eventually they took pity of her and dragged her half-conscious to the cage. 

As they dragged her back she noticed something she had not seen before. Sprawled on the sand rested the body of the criminal who previously occupied the cage. The shock of what she saw consumed the energy she had left and as the ground swayed below her, her vision turned black.

Days continued in a similar fashion and as the company continued in procession towards an unknown destination, she thought of home. 

She missed the cool, dreary weather of England after weeks of only seeing desert sand. The lush green of home was nostalgic for the first time in her life. She missed all the things she had once hated and cursed herself for taking them for granted. How could she not see the beauty of the pouring rain during a storm, the lightning lighting the night for only a moment? How could she have hated and feared such a miracle of nature? 

She thought also of her parents. Her mother, kind but demanding, who she had fought with so often; and her father, her amazing father, who valued her and raised her to be strong and determined despite the frowns thrown their way because of it. Her elder sister, Anne, who despite always being aloof loved her family dearly. John and Elizabeth, her younger siblings who always looked up to her. Her young twin sisters, Mary and Margret, always causing mischief and giving father premature grey hairs. Her baby brother, Philip, who would most likely be too young to comprehend her disappearance. Oh, how worried they would be knowing nothing of her and whether or not she lived. 

She was startled from her reverie when one of the men gave a happy shout. In the distance, she saw an amazing palace and was certain at that moment that it was not an illusion created by her mind. The structure radiated golds and whites and lush gardens surrounded the magnificent structure. She could also see the smaller houses of the people who lived in the city. Never had she seen such elegance, not even in the palaces of her country. They had arrived in whatever place she was destined to go and she hoped beyond hope that this would not be the place where she met her ultimate demise.


	4. The Khanum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read this and for your support!

Spring 1851, Tehran – Selena’s POV

Her captors led her through the gates of the palace, now on foot, as the caravan was left with servants at the city entrance. As she crossed the threshold, the true grandeur of the city was revealed to her. White marble covered almost all surfaces with gold foil decorating it in flower-like patterns. The architecture was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It was far more elegant than any Western palace, with its intricate designs and colours that radiated warmth and wealth. 

The true beauty of the palace, however, was its gardens. After weeks in the blistering desert, the green grass decorated with exotic flowers and trees was a welcome change. The gardens extended in an endless continuum, twisting and turning in elaborate patterns around the palace walls. In the centre, a fountain sparkled proudly with the reflection of the sun on its pure surface. The place was quiet and calm, purely beautiful, allowing Selena to temporarily forget her own fear and uncertainty.

The magnificence before her contrasted greatly with the dusty and impoverished peasant houses that she crossed on her way. They appeared to have once been elegant, if modest, structures, but now they were mere shells of their own existence, the hard winds of time deteriorating the pearls they once contained. It saddened her to see such suffering right next to such riches. She was certain they worked hard, judging by what she had seen on the way, but for them, there was no reward. As she began contemplating how much better the treatment of peasants was in her own country she stopped… were they really treated that much better? She would not know, not really. She rarely went to the poor areas, only when leaving the city and in those times, she kept the curtains of her well-polished carriage closed to avoid seeing the dirty streets, a scented handkerchief protecting her nose from the rancid smells outside. Was she really any better than those who inhabited the palace before her?

“حرکت!” One of her captors grunted at her pushing her forward and breaking her out of her reverie. It was the same one who had taken so much pleasure in flogging her raw, so she shuffled forward quickly, fearing his wrath. 

The palace interior was just as grand as its exterior, embellished with lavish furniture and Persian carpets that emitted colour and clarity into the rooms. Each room in itself was unique, with different colour patterns, functions and ages, seeming almost as if some had evolved over time, whereas others had remained as they were when the palace was first built. A particular room she passed appeared so ancient that she feared for anyone who sat on one of the chairs might break them, as they appeared so fragile. The antique table was beautifully carved, but its weary legs were brittle after years of holding such a heavy burden. The ancient wood spoke of the age of the city in which she now resided and her awe increased at its obvious long history.

They reached a long corridor and at its end waited two other men, obviously guards, who though obviously not related, still looked disturbingly similar. One was several inches taller than the other but they both seemed to lack the usual muscle definition that one found in guards and were both bald, though whether this was due to age or shaving remained a mystery to Selena. They were dressed in identical green flowing gowns that appeared to be the typical male dress style of the East. 

The two men looked at her up and down before sharing a knowing look with her captors and transferred her weight to their broad shoulders, carrying her with them towards a closed door opposite the one she had just entered, which lead to an open courtyard. It was beautiful! A grand fountain spewed water in the centre and large trees covered the outer rims of the area. The ground was covered in lush grass and bright flowers, only interrupted by four stone paths that led from the centre of the fountain to four exits, one of which was the place in which she and the guards where standing. Around the courtyard, past the large trees, an open hallway skirted the perimeter, passing through the four doors, clearly useful in case of rain, though the doubted it rained often in the desert. 

On the grass and on stone benches were seated over a dozen tanned, dark-haired women, all with veils over their faces, chattering amongst each other non-stop. It had been so long since she had heard joyous talk and mirthful laughter that hearing it almost seemed foreign and unnatural. Some women stopped speaking to look and her, but quickly lost interest and resumed their conversation, as if seeing an injured girl being dragged by two guards was an everyday occurrence.

The guards turned left leading her through the shaded area to the second door, directly opposite to where she had been standing before. It seemed like the largest and most grandiose entry, large and covered in golden foil, decorated with complex images of flowers and birds. The shorter guard opened the door, and Selena was granted with the sight of many more women on plush seats and cushions talking, much like in the garden. In the centre of the room sat a dark-haired woman who stood out from the rest, with her colourful, carefully weaved clothing and the top-quality divan she lounged on, eating grapes that were held up for her by a shaking maid. 

The woman clearly held the most power in the room and it was clear all the other women feared her terribly, as they trembled when she addressed them and hurried to reply to her questions and meet her demands in their foreign tongue. Even Selena feared this woman. She was very small and fragile looking, likely in her late 20’s or early 30’s but there was a glint in her eyes that spoke of cruelty and brutality. She seemed like a woman who would gladly watch an innocent child die for her amusement, or watch a friend be tortured because they bored her. Selena saw in her eyes for the first time something akin to pure evil and she bowed her head submissively to the woman as her guards threw her onto the floor.

She heard the woman call for something and then heard a much older voice ordering in English for her to rise. Selena rose hesitantly, her back groaning in protest, looking up to see the English speaker, an older lady, possibly in her fifties, standing behind the Khanum, who continued to lounge casually on her divan, looking down at her. The older woman was dressed in fine dark blue silks, with a patterned veil covering all but her eyes. Her tanned skin was visible at the arms and hands, which she clasped together. She stood tall, with a confidence and pride that reminded Selena of her late grandmother.

“You stand before Her Ladyship the Khanum, Mother of the Shah of Persia, favourite Wife of the late Shah. I, Bahar, will translate for you.” She paused as the Khanum said something, smirking in amusement. “Her Ladyship welcomes you to this Court and hopes you had a safe and pleasant travel. She understands the weather is quite different in your country and the travel is a harrowing one.” It was at that moment that Selena realised why the Khanum was so amused. She knew. She knew that Selena had suffered and found it amusing. Selena’s stomach churned as she realised the full extent of this woman’s viciousness. 

Bahar walked away from the Khanum’s side to stand just before Selena, her gait assertive but dignified. “You will come with me. You will be dressed appropriately, fed and I will clarify your purpose here.” And with that she bowed to the Khanum and walked away, beckoning for Selena to follow her. Selena curtsied awkwardly, her blistered back making it hard for her to move and followed Bahar, leaving a chuckling queen behind. 

Bahar’s pace was brisk and Selena struggled to keep up. They walked through a maze of corridors, often occupied by more women, chatting or carrying out chores of various kinds. She finally caught a glimpse of children, running around and playing with toys, naïve to the death around them. The place seemed unusually lacking in men, however, with only the guards in sight.

“Excuse me,” she murmured to Bahar. Her voice was weak and ragged and she realised at that moment that it had been weeks since she last spoke to anyone. Bahar made a non-committal sound but did not slow down, “there are no men here other than the guards. I was wondering…”

“We are in a harem child,” Bahar scoffed, “it is strictly reserved for women, namely the Shah’s wives, concubines and servants. The only men you will find here are the eunuchs, whose job is to protect us from unwanted attention. I would advise you in future to not speak unless spoken to. Most here would not take kindly to such disrespect and it would end painfully for you. However, I will grant you permission to speak to me freely as it is my duty to educate you on our life.”

“Why am I here then?” Selena asked, rushing to stand beside the older woman. Bahar gave her a sideways glance and sighed. 

“I suppose that is the main question. Unfortunately, it is also one that I am not allowed to answer as of yet. However, I must ask, do you speak French?” Selena’s disappointment was overshadowed by her surprise at the question. 

“Yes, I can speak it, though I am not completely fluent. Why is the question of any relevance?” She asked, curious. Why would I need to speak French in Persia?

“The answer to that question would involve answering your first one. You will know in time.” Bahar replied as two guards opened large, wooden double doors. On the opposite side was a large bedroom, complete with a desk, a bookshelf and in the centre a king-sized bed, all coloured in red and mahogany themes. It looked unusually European. On the right wall was a small door, leading presumably to a bathroom. “These will be your quarters. The Khanum hopes that it is familiar and that you will remain comfortable. You are not to leave unless instructed to. I will be your mentor and will spend most days in here with you. First allow me to dress your wounds.” She stated motioning Selena towards the bed. Everything the woman said seemed oddly rehearsed and Selena wondered if it was truly so. 

Bahar dressed her wounds in silence, placing a cooling ointment and fresh bandages. As the pain subsided from Selena’s back a young maid who could be no more than fourteen entered, carrying a large tray of food. Selena ate her stew and bread like a starved man… well woman, which she supposed she was, only interrupting periodically to drink water. Bahar ate in a far more civilised manner, taking small bits of bread, though she gave no indication of disgust at Selena’s lack of manners. 

“So, I assume you have more questions?” Bahar asked as they finished their meal. As she waited for Selena’s reply she rang a bell and the same maid entered immediately, removing the leftover food. As she turned to leave, she met Selena’s eyes and they were filled with such fear and pity that a tingle of dread rolled down her spine. 

“Yes,” Selena answered. She meant to sound confident but her voice came out small and weak, “why is the maid afraid of me?” Bahar didn't answer, merely looking squarely at Selena. And then it hit her, “She isn’t afraid of me. She’s afraid for me.” Bahar’s silence was enough confirmation and Selena sprinted towards the door, panic overtaking her. Bahar must have predicted her movements because Selena didn't get far before she felt a pair of hands grab her wrists and drag her backwards. Selena fought against her binds ferociously, crying and screaming like a wild animal. Eventually her movements subsided, leaving her still and hyperventilating, begging Bahar for mercy. 

“Please, please help me… escape. I don’t… want to die… I want… to go home.” Her phrases came out jagged due to her laboured breathing but Bahar understood. She let go of the younger woman’s wrists and moved to stand in front of her.

“It’s impossible to escape. Many have tried and all have failed. The punishment for such an attempt is far more brutal than you can imagine and will leave you begging for death. I cannot help you escape. I can, however, help you learn what to expect so you can survive with your sanity. And who knows, perhaps it will not be so bad. It appears that tonight is not the best day to begin. I suggest you sleep. I will come here tomorrow.” With that she left.

Selena dragged herself to her bed, forgoing a change of clothes and hit under the soft covers as she did when she was scared as a child. She knew, however, that this time her father would not be there to comfort her and sing away her fears. This time she was alone. Tears poured down her face as she cried for the life she had lost and the life that awaited her as sleep consumed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> حرکت! = Move!


	5. Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has supported this so far. It really means a lot to me!
> 
> I know Erik has been gone for a while and I promise you’ll see him again soon. I also know that there is a demand for Erik and Selena to meet and promise that will happen soon as well.

Spring 1851, Tehran – Selena’s POV

Selena woke to the sound of curtains being drawn. The light that instantly hit her eyes made her groan and hide under the covers. 

“Mary, tell father that I won’t be down for breakfast. I just had the most horrid dream.” She ordered her maid, hiding further into the covers.

“Who’s Mary?” Bahar’s voice rang soundly in the room and Selena shot out of bed to look at her surroundings. Her back’s groans of protest at her sudden movement were enough to make her realise that nothing had been a dream. As she looked around her room and back at Bahar she felt like crying, all hopes that the whole affair was just a horrible nightmare shattered. Bahar looked at her sympathetically as she realised the girl’s confusion, “I am certain that you wish to return home to your father and this Mary woman but you cannot. All you can do now is be strong, child. No more tears, no more prayers. They will not help you here.”

“You are not religious?” Selena asked Bahar, surprised. To be an infidel was already a mortal sin, but to deny religion altogether was another matter entirely.

“I am. I am Muslim. Nonetheless, I have lived in this place long enough to know that no god will help you here so your only faith should be in yourself. Do not trust anyone. Anyone could be a spy or using you for their own means.” Bahar stated gravely, turning towards a wardrobe and removing an array of fine green silks.

“So, I shouldn't trust you.” It wasn't a question. Selena slipped out of bed and walked towards Bahar, “You’re a spy for the Khanum.”

Bahar smirked as she turned to face the younger woman, "You learn quickly, child. There may yet be hope for you." Selena opened her mouth to reply but Bahar interrupted, “I am expected to relay everything to the Khanum and do as I’m bid but I am also your tutor here. The Khanum’s main interest is on how you adapt to our world, not the small details. She wants you to fail and to perish. I’d rather you survive and will help you do so. To do that, however, you must appear delicate but be strong. Your mind is your greatest asset. In a world where everyone expects you to fail, the most unexpected thing you can do is succeed. Keep that in mind.”

“If everyone wants me to fail, why don’t you?” Selena asked as Bahar led her to the bathroom where a warm bath was already drawn and Selena guessed someone had done it before she woke up.

“Because I was like you once.” Bahar sighed as she helped Selena remove her ripped and dirty dress. "I was a commoner who caught the attention of an important nobleman and was brought to the harem as his concubine. I was younger than you and I was scared. But I learned to survive, and my natural talent in languages interested the Khanum and so, after I ceased to be of interest to the nobleman, I became the Khanum's personal translator." 

“Why would your parents allow you to be taken?” Selena asked, taken aback. The warmth of the bath soothed her aching muscles and she began gently scrubbing weeks of grime from her skin. 

“They did not have much of a choice. Any resistance from them or from me could have resulted in all our deaths. Plus, it’s considered a great honour to a family to be chosen by someone of such a high rank. My parents were in fact overjoyed. I’m afraid to say that I did not share the same excitement. It was true that I have safety but I have no freedom.” A yearning tone laced her words and Selena suddenly felt a twinge of pity building for this poor woman, whose liberty was stolen by the lust of a man. “Anyway, I am here to teach you, not reminisce about what could have been. Today I will teach you about how to address others, how to dress and your duties within a household. Where would you like to begin?”

And so, it began. Selena learnt about the Persian dress style. She honestly thought it was indecent and that was being polite about it. Women were expected to wear trousers? Despite their flair, they were nevertheless men’s clothing. How could they claim modesty? Bahar laughed at Selena’s diffidence though she did not seem surprised. In the end, she still managed to dress the younger woman in some green harem pants and a matching long-sleeved top, covered by a long overcoat that Selena decided was moderately decent and was soft enough that it didn't hurt her wounded back too much.

For the rest of the day, Bahar taught her the proper way of addressing those around her, primarily because, as an immigrant with no friends or influence, she was at the bottom of the social ladder. Therefore, she would be expected to address everyone by their specific titles and could not speak unless addressed to first. The only ones below her were the servants, who she could treat as she pleased with no fear of repercussion. The change from the daughter of an Earl, at the top of the hierarchy, to the bottom was unnatural to her and she struggled to accept her new position. Although not many understood English, it was still vital that she use the correct titles through the translator because if someone were to overhear her, she could be severely punished and Bahar made it clear that she would not be able to help. Though she wished to help Selena to survive, she would not risk her own life or position to do so. 

By Selena’s insistence, she was also taught simple Farsi phrases that she could use and understand. Though she proved a slow learner, she still gruellingly studied the phrases, accompanied by an ever-patient Bahar, in the hopes that she might overhear something relating to her fate. Though she knew it was a long-shot, she was still determined to try everything within her power to find out, her curiosity outweighing her fear of the consequences.

Bahar then taught Selena the duties that she was expected to fulfil within a household, especially those regarding cooking and cleaning, giving Selena various recipes that she mentioned were liked by those at court and helped her translate them into English. Selena would not be required to do any of the chores should servants be around but otherwise she was expected to master both skills; a challenge to a woman who had never done either in her life. Selena found it odd that, if all women lived in a harem with servants, she would be required to cook and clean at any point but accepted that it was likely a mere precaution.

After a gruelling day of learning and acceptance, Bahar allowed her to sleep, warning her that she would be there early in the morning to prepare her to meet the Khanum and, should the Khanum deem her ready, Selena would meet her fate the next afternoon. With fear creeping out from the darkest recesses of her mind she fell into an uneasy sleep, awakening often during the night, with forgotten nightmares haunting her. Only one did she remember after she awoke.

Her dreams were choppy and confusing, progressing with emotion rather than logic. A darkened shadow chased her through a vast expanse of desert. Despite the burning of dehydration on her throat and her cramping limbs she kept running, too afraid to stop or look back. Her back stung as if a thousand whips were falling on it in one fluid motion but she continued at the same pace through blurred eyes and burning sand, the dark shadow ever-present. She closed her eyes in an attempt to clear them and when they opened again the shadow was before her. She skidded to a stop and fell before it, looking up at its chilling, smoky appearance in terror. She tried to run but was paralysed and could only watch as the figure bend down and engulfed her. 

She awoke in cold sweat with a hand shaking her vigorously. She looked up to see Bahar’s worried face looking down at her. Bahar continued to watch in concerned silence as Selena burst into tears, only rubbing her back occasionally as if knowing that nothing she said could sooth the terrified girl before her. 

As Selena calmed, Bahar helped her out of bed and to a wash basin to wash her face of the tears that coated her face. Bahar then dressed her wounds with an ointment of some sort and bandages before dressing her in moderately decent Persian clothing of an aqua blue colour. 

Selena was still shaking when breakfast was brought by a small maid, who scuttled away quickly like a small mouse after depositing the food on a nearby table. It was a simple meal of bread and cheese, for which Selena was grateful as she very much doubted she would be able to stomach much more. Bahar ate beside her, still refraining from saying a word. Remembering her manners, Selena muttered a small good morning in Farsi, which was reciprocated by Bahar with a small smile before the meal lapsed once again into silence. 

After the meal, she was quickly reminded of the correct ways of addressing her superiors before being led to the courtyard she had been in only two days prior, except this time by a less imposing escort. Nevertheless, she received similar stares from the other women, whose curiosity had not dulled at all since their previous encounter, her nervousness increasing with every step.

As they once again entered the Khanum’s chamber, Selena’s nerves were already frayed. The imposing woman was once again sitting in the divan, this time wearing a dark crimson and gold as if it had been dyed from the blood of her victims and melded in their wealth. 

As she was taught, she kneeled before the Khanum and extended her arms on the floor, entirely at the woman's mercy, only rising at Bahar’s word. She stood gingerly and clasped her hands before her still looking at the ground as if awaiting a death sentence as the Khanum sat silently and watched the fidgeting creature before her as if looking at an ant under a microscope; the court remained silent; an entity holding its breath. 

The exhale came after what felt like an eternity to Selena but was most likely only a few seconds. The Khanum rose and walked towards Selena, circling her a couple of times, judging her reactions. Selena, to her credit, remained virtually still under the examination, never looking up, much to the Khanum’s annoyance.

The woman returned to her divan and sat down exactly as she had been before while addressing Bahar, who had stayed beside Selena the whole time but had not been required to kneel due to her superior status. Bahar bowed to the woman and turned to Selena, gently leading her away. Selena copied Bahar's movements without ever lifting her head from the marble floor and allowed herself to be dragged away. 

The return to her rooms was silent and the both mulled over the Khanum’s silent judgement, too afraid to speak lest they be overheard by existing spies. Only after they were safely within Selena’s rooms did she dare to break the silence.

“What did she say?” She asked sullenly, dreading the answer.

“She said you are ready. Tomorrow you shall meet him.” Bahar replied emotionlessly.

Selena gulped back the panic that was about to overtake her, “Meet whom?” 

Bahar hesitated as if preparing herself for “He’s known by many names: The Magician, The Devil, The Angel of Death… You are to be his concubine.”

For a while, Selena could only stare, unsure if she should laugh at the cruel joke or cry at the new revelation. Bahar’s stoic appearance, however, left no room for doubt. It wasn't a joke. I should’ve just died in that desert. Tears poured down her cheeks as she clung onto Bahar as if doing so would give her strength to face the next day.


	6. The Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Erik has returned to you as promised.

Spring 1851, Tehran – Erik's POV

Erik paced his parlour restlessly, only pausing intermittently to stare accusingly at the parchment sitting innocently on its stand. After not touching a musical instrument for months, the haunting prospect of the Khanum's gift made his fingers itch for a new composition. It was meant to be a simple piece, fit for the innocent ears of children but inspiration eluded him. He had reached an impasse, his dread haunting his concentration, stopping him from continuing his music.

His anxiety was only heightened by the thought of the disaster that Mazandaran would be when he arrived. He could clearly picture the bumbling workers and architects, fumbling to understand his genius. Moreover, he constantly changed the plans slightly so that no one ever truly knew what its design was or where the secret passages were. Then there were the other secret passages that only he, and not even the Shah, would know of so that he could spy on whoever he chose to.

Sighing in annoyance, he sat heavily upon an armchair, his posture unusually slouched, and continued to brood over the previous day's events while watching the small rays of sunlight peek from the horizon. The Khanum had something cruel planned, of that he had no doubt. What it was he could not imagine and it troubled his weary mind. 

Stress and frustration eventually dragged him to his hookah, already prepared with opium for his use. Despite his promise to himself that he would cease using the blasted drug, his body would not allow it and the veil of peacefulness it brought was far too tempting for him to resist. His actions would later be regretted, that he did not doubt, but he was too weary to care at the present time and allowed the drug to quiet his restless mind, eventually drifting into a light slumber. 

He startled awake at the sound of footsteps approaching his apartments. He had chosen an isolated and abandoned wing of the palace, claiming the entirety to himself. Had anyone else made such a demand they would have most likely been assassinated but Erik's value far outweighed that of an unused wing and so the Shah had graciously allowed it.

The isolation allowed Erik to hear any disturbances to his peace so that any threat could be easily overheard. A few structural alterations also enhanced any outside sounds while muffling those within his quarters, so that he could easily hear out but other could not hear in. 

The footsteps were undoubtedly the daroga's, his steady gait easily detectable in a crowd. Groaning, Erik lifted himself unsteadily from his armchair, stretching his aching muscles and attempted to clear his foggy mind. It would not do to appear dishevelled before the Persian, much less so before the Khanum. 

This time Nadir did not bother to knock, most likely expecting Erik to be lying on the floor somewhere in a drug-induced haze. That had once occurred when he came to check on his young friend, though due to the effect of the drugs Erik did not remember the event and Nadir did not see a valid reason to remind the prideful boy. 

Erik watched the Persian walk in unannounced. Under most circumstances, he would have found the daroga's abuse of the keys Erik had gifted him a great offence but at the present time he found himself too somnolent to feel anything more than mild annoyance. 

Erik decided not to bother with formalities and instead gestured only vaguely to the daroga's usual seat before retaking his place in the armchair, his head beginning to pound furiously at his cranium.

"Must we go now?" he asked simply, wiling his growing headache away.

The daroga was glancing distastefully at the hookah that still sat innocently on a side table, only looking up to respond, "No, but I suspected you would be in a bad state. I guessed correctly it would seem," he stated glancing again at the hookah, "You never do take kindly to having your artistic plans halted." He then looked at Erik's bloodshot eyes, "You should have a drink, it will make you feel better."

Erik nodded his assent before walking gingerly to the liquor cabinet, as the daroga watched in horror, getting up to snatch a bottle of whiskey out of Erik's eager hands.

"Of water, you fool. A drink of water. Adding more poison to your body will do you no good." He sighed deeply while replacing the bottle on its shelf before walking to the kitchen and filling a glass of water. 

Erik followed his movements listlessly and returned to his seat, waiting for whatever the daroga wanted to tell him. His headache felt like it was crushing his skull and, like many times before, he swore he would never touch opium again.

The daroga returned with a steaming mug which Erik guessed was a tea. The smell told him it contained ginger and lemongrass at least. He was too tired to question it and allowed the daroga to hand him the warm drink, which he began to sip as he watched the daroga's return to his seat. 

"What time is it then?" Erik asked, deciding for the final time that he would have to install a clock in his parlour. 

"Around noon," Nadir replied, "It gives us about three hours before you are expected by the Khanum. By then you should be feeling well enough to deal with the woman's manipulations."

Erik looked objectionably at the daroga, "I could outwit that woman in my sleep. If she were half as intelligent as she believes she is, she would be twice as intelligent as she actually is."

Despite the joke, the daroga remained unamused. "You and I both know that is not the case, and it does not do to underestimate your enemies, Erik. You should know that better than –"

"It was a jest, Daroga. You are truly the most tedious creature I have ever encountered. Now, shall we play a game of chess? I can prove to you that I am completely in control of my faculties," Erik replied, finding the situation exaggeratingly amusing. He decided to blame it on the after-effects of the opium.

The daroga accepted, shaking his head in exasperation. The one game turned into five, all of which Erik easily won, using it to assist his belief that he was completely sober, though the daroga continued to look at him sceptically, After the fifth game he excused himself to prepare himself for his meeting with the Khanum. 

Erik removed his mask, cleaning his face with cold water and smoothing his hair back. It was getting long and he would need to cut it soon but had been avoiding it due to sheer idleness. He then dressed in a dark suit with matching gloves and a black face mask, finishing by tying his Punjab lasso to a strap on his belt so that the only visible skin was a small portion of his neck. He exited the safety of his bedchambers to find the daroga waiting at the door of his apartments, holding it open. 

They walked side by side in a comfortable silence towards the harem, situated on the opposite side of the palace. Erik suspected it was another reason his wing had been surrendered so easily. The Shah already disliked his mother's willingness to allow him into the female sanctuary, thus making sure he stayed as far from it as possible was a necessity for the Shah as he did not want his family or lovers to be taken from him by the Devil. Erik snorted in amusement at the Shah's self-flattery, prompting the daroga to give him an odd look that he pointedly ignored. As if I would be interested in anything he's touched.

He approached the harem's doors, which the eunuchs opened for him and left the daroga behind with only a small nod in his direction. Despite the daroga's high position in court, he was still banned from the harem unless a catastrophic attack were to occur. Unfortunately, such an attack had not yet happened. Erik would not have mourned the untimely death of the Khanum. 

He ignored the women's sidelong glances as they hurriedly shuffled away from him, used to the repulsed stares they gave him. It was of no matter. The old were insipid, the young were plain and all of them were horribly dull, only capable of speaking of the weather and fashion. He preferred more humorous company, capable of battling his quick wit with enthusiasm. He had yet to find such a companion and doubted he ever would. 

The Khanum sat on her divan as usual, doing her best to accentuate her features and Erik resisted the urge to gag. Does the woman's sadism know no bounds?

"Ah, my favourite Magician has finally arrived," she stated with a childlike enthusiasm as he walked towards her. As always, he did not even incline his head, and as always, she did not seem to mind. "What brings you to the softer side of the palace? Perhaps you are bored of your brutish ways and require some… relaxation."

"You requested my presence," Erik replied smoothly, not in the mood for the witch's mockery.

"Did I?" she asked a servant that stood holding a plate of fruits, who merely continued to look down, "Oh yes, yes I did. I remember now."

Erik's patience was wearing thin. "With all due respect," he said sardonically, "I am a busy man and have the roles of architect, magician and executioner to fulfil. If you have ordered me here merely to jest, I shall take my leave. I am certain any of your ladies would be more than happy to entertain you."

"Oh, aren't you in a foul mood today." The Khanum laughed. "Do you not want your gift?" At Erik's impassive expression she merely cackled. "Come now Erik, you need only ask."

"If you wanted to give it to me now you would have already done so," Erik replied. "Would you not?"

The Khanum sighed in annoyance, "You are impossible to deceive. It is both your best and worst quality. I shall continue to try, however."

"You may continue to try if you believe it worth your time." 

The Khanum's patience appeared to be wearing as thin as Erik's. "If you insist on being so very disagreeable you may take your leave," the Khanum huffed. "I hope to see you again soon. I will have your gift brought to you tonight." 

Erik merely inclined his head in response before taking his leave. As he turned, he saw many curious faces that appeared to be attempting to understand the scene unfolding before them turn quickly to resume their activities, hoping that they had not been noticed. He always wondered how so many imbeciles managed to survive due to pure stupidity. 

He walked out of the harem to find the daroga still waiting for him who, upon noticing Erik's foul mood, offered his excuses, stating that he had business to attend to. For once, Erik thanked his annoying carer's perception. 

He returned quickly to his apartments, finding solace in his extensive library, deciding upon a book on rare herbal medicines. Though most he already knew, and some were completely bogus, there were some that were new. He wrote down the names of the herbs, planning to procure them at a later date and study their effectiveness. 

Bored and still riddled with the remains of his headache, he sat for a long time contemplating what he could do next. He briefly considered returning to his music but he still found himself lacking in inspiration. Instead, he opted to do something he rarely did willingly: nothing.

He sat in his armchair and thought about everything. His life, his hopes, the dreams he dared not dream. He thought of his mother, of Madame Perrault, of Sasha, Javert, Giovanni, Luciana. He thought of all the countries he had travelled to, their similarities, their differences, their beauty, their horrors. Most of his thoughts were dark and bleak but shining like lanterns were the small good things that had happened. Much like a lantern, however, they quickly flickered and died away, leaving him once again in the murky darkness that was his life. 

He sat for so long that he lost track of all time and space before him until the daroga's distinctive knock roused him. He noticed, however, by the sounds outside, that the daroga was not alone. He could hear at least three more living creatures. Two were definitely guards, judging by the clinking of their armour. The last he could not identify, knowing only that it was likely to be a child, judging by the quietness of his movements. 

Erik lifted himself from the armchair, annoyed that the gift was likely to be a servant, despite his many protests that he did not need one. Especially one who was so unwilling to come that he had to be dragged by guards.

His predictions were horrifically wrong, when, as he opened the door he saw first the daroga, standing aloofly, though Erik could detect the turbulence in his eyes. Behind him stood two guards as expected. Between them was not a young boy, however, there was a girl who appeared to be European, dressed entirely in Persian garb, looking decisively at the ground though she was noticeably trembling.

The girl was small, the top of her head barely brushing his shoulder, with raven hair, not unlike his own, that only accentuated her pale features. She was clad in deep crimson and despite her apparent beauty he felt only pity for the poor girl who was likely terrified and on the verge of swooning.

Realisation dawned and Erik resisted the urge to go to the Khanum and strangle the godforsaken woman.

Knowing there was not much he could do he stepped aside to allow the small procession passage into his once peaceful domain.


	7. Angel of Death

Spring 1851, Tehran – Selena's POV

Bahar had dressed Selena in the most indecent red she had ever encountered, only made worse by its revealing cut that showed far too much skin for Selena's liking. Despite her horror, she was perfectly aware why such an outfit had been chosen and shuddered at the thought.

Selena had considered many options throughout the night including escape and even the mortal sin of suicide but Bahar, likely understanding her position, advised her to bide her time, to understand the Persian ways if she were to have any chance of survival, even if it meant losing her purity.

With her survival instincts taking precedence over her fears she allowed Bahar to hand her to a man she introduced as Nadir Khan, and two guards who would accompany her. 

The guards’ faces could not be seen behind their helmets but Mr Khan was wearing only minimal armour. He was shorter than most men she had seen and appeared to be in his thirties. Despite the brutality of Persia, there was an air of kindness about him that relaxed Selena. He looked at her with something akin to sympathy and nodded, though he did not seem as concerned for her as everyone else. Why would such a kindly man allow her to be carried towards her doom was beyond her comprehension?

She said her goodbyes to Bahar as Mr Khan waited surprisingly patiently. When she deemed herself ready, he began to lead the way and Selena followed, the guards behind her to prevent any escape attempts. 

The walk across the palace felt like a funeral procession to her. They walked slowly but Selena found herself disinterested in the colourful gardens and intricate interiors around her, preferring instead to look at the ground as if looking ahead meant staring at her future in the face.

They strode for a while, reaching an empty and desolate wing that, despite its beauty, looked like a tomb. Their steps echoed menacingly as they climbed the steps that would likely lead to the Angel of Death's rooms.

She continued to look stubbornly at the ground as the man opened the door, seeing only his perfectly polished shoes. Even as the man granted them entrance, she did not look up. 

The man and Mr Khan talked briefly and she was surprised by the melodious baritone that she heard, especially when contrasted with Mr Khan's tired, hoarse voice. The voice sounded like that of an angel, not a devil. Then again, even the Devil was once an angel and it was dangerous to underestimate someone's cruelty. She had learnt that from the Khanum. 

Curiosity finally forced her hand and she looked at the man who would now control her future. Nevertheless, though she may have lost control of her fate, she refused to give him the satisfaction of believing so. So, she looked up while giving him the most furious look she could muster. It must have faltered immediately, however, when she looked at him. 

She had expected a Persian like those she had already seen but before her stood an abnormally thin and tall man whose face was completely covered by a black mask, only his piercing golden eyes adding colour to his otherwise sombre appearance. He was clearly European though she did could not discern from where. He looked down at her, though his mask impeded her from determining what he was feeling.

He was unlike any man she had ever met.

Nadir Khan looked once between the two of them before saying something to the guards and together the three left, leaving Selena and the man alone. 

For a long time the two merely stared at each other, unsure of what to say. Finally, the man seemed to come out of his stupor, addressing her in perfect English.

"I am Erik and I have been told your name is Selena Turnour, correct?" Selena only nodded weakly. His tone promptly turned from formal to jovial as he continued. "Please come, sit. I shall prepare you some tea. I also have some sweet biscuits if you are interested."

He was indeed unlike any man she had ever met. 

Despite her plan to protest, Selena found herself sitting on a chaise lounge in the parlour. She watched him walk with a cat-like elegance to what she assumed was the kitchen, returning shortly after with a tray of tea and biscuits. 

As he poured the tea she wondered why he bothered with formalities. She was entirely at his mercy. He did not need to flatter her with fake civility only to take advantage of her later in the night. Was it his plan to attempt to make her lower her guard through flattery and mock-kindness? If it is it will not work.

She was also wary of drinking the tea, fearing it might be drugged. Erik must have noticed this because he placed his tea down.

"I did not put anything in it if that is what you fear," she said with a sigh.

"Then why do you not partake?" Selena replied with as much courage as she could gather.

His eyes darkened considerably and for the first-time Selena caught a glimpse of how dangerous the man before her was. "Because to do so causes me discomfort in this mask. I assure you, you do not want to see me without it. Either way, I care not if you drink. I was merely trying to be civil."

"Why bother? I'm sure you will be taking advantage of me soon enough!" Selena cried out.

"No," Erik replied coolly.

"I beg your pardon?" Selena asked, incredulous.

"I said no. I do not make it a habit of mine to force myself upon unwilling women and I shall not flatter myself and believe you are willing. You shall stay with me for your own safety but I shall not go near you if you do not wish it." 

Selena eyed him sceptically. "So you allow me to stay? Out of the goodness of your heart? What do you want in return?"

Erik's voice was barely a whisper, "No more innocent deaths on my conscience."

The reply struck Selena to the core. Though she wanted to know what he meant, she also felt like having that knowledge would haunt her. Erik noticed her curiosity, however, and indulged her.

"Do you believe you are the first concubine the Khanum has offered me? The last one cried and I sent her away. A week later the Khanum called upon me. I watched the girl die a slow and agonising death. She was barely fifteen. Still a child." The emotion in his voice was making the eloquent man's speech sloppy, Selena noticed, and it terrified her almost as much as his anger. "The Khanum laughed as she died. I killed that child by not making her stay. I will not make the same mistake with you. So, you shall stay with me."

After the revelation, the room descended into awkward silence again. Erik seemed lost in thought but Selena was desperate to fill the uncomfortable stillness.

"You said your name was Erik," she started hesitantly. "I find myself at a disadvantage. You know my surname but I do not know yours."

"That is because I do not have one. My turn. How old are you?"

Selena was startled that her attempt to question her new host had backfired so quickly. "I am seventeen. I shall be turning eighteen next winter. What about you?"

"I am nineteen I think."

"You think? How can you not know?" Selena asked doubtfully but was only met with a vicious glare.

"Come with me," Erik said, standing.

Selena found herself with little choice but to follow him. He led her through a corridor and into what she assumed was his bedroom. At this realisation, she shot backwards out of the room and glared at him betrayed that he would lie to her and attempt to abuse her trust. 

Erik turned at her flight and glared at her. "These will be your rooms for now. I find that I am unused to guests and have not found any reason to furnish a guest room. Tomorrow we shall go to the market to procure the required items for your room. We can also purchase any clothing you may need and any food you may want. Goodnight."

With that he turned to leave but Selena stopped him. "Wait! What about you? Do you not need a place to sleep?"

"I do not sleep much. I will come in the morning to procure some clothes. There is a lock on the door, you may use it if you see fit." He turned to leave but then remembered something. "If the Khanum asks you about me try to burst into tears and claim that I am a violent and horrific lover and beg her to relieve you of your service. That should amuse her for a while."

"Will she relieve me if I ask?"

"Of course not." Erik laughed, a strange sound that was more melodious than his speech, despite its mocking tone. "But if she believes you are suffering you will be of little interest to her. She does so hate happiness in her court."

After he left, Selena began to explore her new surroundings, though first she made sure she locked the door. She briefly wondered if he might not have an extra key to open the door but decided that thinking about that would do her no good. Her life was in Erik's hands, a fact that she had no choice but to accept. Trust, however, was something she would not give. The man wasn't called the Angel of Death for nothing, of that she was sure. 

The room could only be described as dark, a stark contrast to the gentle creams she was used to. All furniture was made of dark mahogany and his linens of a deep red. The walls were covered with a black wallpaper, decorated with grey fleur-de-lis. So he is French, Selena assumed, explaining Bahar's interest in her knowledge of the language, though she did not understand why she would need it if Erik was also fluent in English. 

Overall, the room blended the Persian and European styles perfectly, becoming an intricately woven chamber of East and West, accentuating all their best features. The room also looked like a catacomb, dark and dreary… waiting for death. 

Shuddering, she opened a side door, finding it to be an entrance to a bathroom, furnished with everything one can dream of, including, to her delight, plumbing. Even the bathtub had taps for both warm and cold water!

She was startled by a knock at the door, opening it cautiously to find Erik on the other side holding what appeared to be a bundle of clothing. 

"I realised you would have nothing to wear," he said, "You may use this until tomorrow. Then, we will find you something more suitable."

She muttered a muted thank you before closing and locking the door once again. 

She found that he had given her one of his white dress shirts, which would easily reach her knees, and a simple red dressing gown for modesty. She changed gingerly, expecting the fearsome man on the other side of the door to come barging in at any moment but he never did. The house was eerily quiet so she assumed he must have left altogether. At least that meant that she would be safe… for now.

He was a strange man, who reminded her of a fallen angel, cast out for some mortal sin. 

She knelt before the bed and, for the first time in weeks, was able to pray without fear that doing so may remind the infidels around her that she was not Muslim, potentially leading to horrific tortures to make her convert.

Oh Lord, you have seen fit to test me by sending me to this strange land. I know not what your plan is, be it to test my faith in you or some other matter entirely. But remember that I will dedicate myself fully to your service. I need your guidance too. I know nothing of the man that I am now bound to. Is he the Devil, sent to tempt me into sin and hedonism? Is he an Angel, sent to guide me through a land of blasphemers? Help me Lord, for I am lost.

Finishing with an "Our Father", for lack of a rosary bead, she then lifted herself onto Erik's bed, falling asleep quickly with dreams of angels and demons battling in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I'd really appreciate any comments because they really help my writing :)


	8. The Shah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the hits! I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Spring 1851, Tehran – Erik's POV

It was decided. First, he would kill the daroga for not alerting him of the Khanum's plan. Then he would slit the Khanum's throat as she slept, quickly followed by her son's. He would finish his magnificent plan by depositing the girl at her father's doorstep and forget he ever met her, allowing him to return to his normal life.

He knew, of course, that the plan was flawed, foolish and bound to end in disaster but one could always dream. Therefore, he would have to play the generous host to an ignorant noblewoman.

His annoyance only grew as he remembered the daroga's reminder of the fate of his last would-be concubine, as if he needed a reminder. Honestly, the man may have taken the role of his conscience but that did not mean he was a simpleton or completely heartless. He had no intention of allowing another woman to die for the sin of hating him. If he did so, he would find every woman on the planet lining up before the guillotine and that would cause quite the issue for the human population. No, he would shelter the young lady for as long as possible, lest his guilt haunt him even more.

Sighing, he grabbed a large book from a neglected shelf. He had made a point to request volumes on every noble family of the most influential countries in case such knowledge ever proved necessary, which, for the first time, it had.

After much sifting through the piles of titles scattered across the ancient papers, he finally found what he was looking for.

Turnour.

Their family title of Earl Winterton was first given to Edward Turnour, 1st Baron of Winterton in 1766. Her father, also named Edward Turnour, born in 1810, was the current Earl and Selena his second daughter amongst five girls and two boys when the book had last been updated. Knowing married couples, they were likely to have at least two more by now, if not out of love then at east out of duty. With the infant mortality rate as high as it was, families, especially noble ones, were unwilling to leave their family name's security to chance. Well… to the will of God as they called it.

Above the family tree sat their motto: 'Esse Quam Videri'. To be, rather than seem. Curious…

Any other useful information had long ago faded away, leaving him unable to learn of any unusual or exciting history that existed in the family. From what was visible, however, they seemed to be the pinnacle of nobility. In other words, monstrously dull.

Effectively disappointed and unwilling to compose so as to not awaken Selena, Erik decided to reshuffle several secret tunnels in his palace, the struggle to achieve the best possible placement distracting him for most of the night. The real challenge was to make sure the tunnels could not be discovered by accident, nor footsteps be heard from within. Acoustics, placement, camouflage… not one element could be forgotten if the palace was to be a true masterpiece. One mistake meant complete failure. Experience was a word given to mistakes and experience was something he could not afford.

When he finished, he knew several parts of the palace would have to be partially or wholly destroyed but he was confident that he would not be met with any resistance; such were the advantages of being feared.

In the early hours of the morning, as Erik completed the finishing touches of his newly improved design, he heard shuffling footsteps approaching his apartments. Movements around his wing were not wholly unusual, as the Shah or the Khanum often sent spies to his wing in an attempt to catch him off guard… not that they had ever succeeded but they never approached his wing directly, or loudly.

Concerned he grabbed his Punjab lasso and opened a secret peephole which allowed him to see his new guests. To his shock he saw the Shah himself, accompanied by four guards. Why would he be here at such an ungodly hour? Can't his business wait until morning? What could be so compelling that he would have to…

As realisation hit him, Erik whirled around, walking briskly to his bedroom while unbuttoning his shirt. He opened the door and threw his shirt and shoes carelessly on the floor, sliding quickly under the sheets next to his sleeping guest.

Fearing her screams, he covered her mouth as he slid on top of her to straddle her drawing the comforter around them, ignoring his own discomfort and awkwardness. As expected, her eyes opened wide and he felt her mouth attempt open under his palm as she flayed carelessly, attempting to dislodge him as he unbuttoned the top of the dress shirt he had lent her, pointedly refusing to look anywhere below her neck.

He heard the front door open, signalling that his time for calming her was over. Selena, however, had clearly also heard the door and stilled momentarily. Seeing his final chance he leaned down to whisper in her room, "I will not harm you, as I promised, but please stop struggling. Or better yet, struggle. It will look more convincing."

Had Selena had more clarity of mind she may have questioned his meaning but scared, she continued to struggle against Erik's stronger frame. Erik evaded her punches easily as he tried his best to seem as unimposing as possible when straddling an unwilling maiden, which proved to be rather challenging.

Erik was so uncomfortable he was almost relieved as the bedroom door burst open and the Shah entered. Selena raised her head in an attempt to see behind Erik, stilling completely as she saw five other men staring at her, and Erik noted that he had never seen cheeks turn such a bright shade of crimson.

Erik turned to the Shah angrily, speaking to him in Persian. "Am I to be gifted a concubine only to be interrupted shortly after?"

"I apologise. Mother and I merely wished to ensure you were making the most of your gift," the Shah replied smoothly, undeterred by Erik's disrespect.

"Now you see. If you would be so kind as to allow us our privacy I would be ever so grateful," Erik retorted sarcastically, his discomfort growing with every moment he was forced to sit on top of Selena, their naked chests almost touching.

Selena had gone from red to deathly pale, her struggling having changed to shivering as the guards ogled her. Seeing this Erik moved his body to obstruct their view, glowering at the guards as they backed away from his glare. To Erik and Selena's misfortune, however, the movement forced their chests together and Erik felt his cheeks flush underneath his mask.

"My, my, you are a jealous creature," the Shah commented, amused and Erik sighed at the misinterpretation of his actions. "I have seen all that I required. Enjoy your night."

The Shah turned, leaving the room with his guards following obediently behind.

Erik and Selena stayed completely motionless, breathing heavily until the front door shut. The second it did Erik jumped out of the bed quicker than he thought possible, running to his shirt which he promptly put back on, still refusing to look at the girl in the bed as shame consumed him. Instead, he left the room, his shirt still hanging open, leaving Selena still half naked and in shock on his bed.

He ran into the kitchen and busied himself preparing tea, in the hopes that it would provide some distraction for what had transpired.

That was the closest he had ever found himself to a member of the opposite sex and despite the fact that it was one of his greatest desires, he could feel nothing but discomfort and shame. He could imagine the humiliation and fear she had likely felt when she awoke, startled and confused, feelings he had never wished to cause a woman. Worst of all, her pleading eyes brought back memories he had buried long ago, which resurfaced with taunts and sneers. No woman will ever look upon me with anything but fear.

As memories returned Erik panicked, dropping his tea, the mug shattering and spilling his drink all over the marble floor. He bent down in a daze to pick up the porcelain shards which cut into the skin of his bare hands. He could feel nothing, however, and images continued to fill his mind completely in no particular order. Sometimes he saw faces or words or colours or emotions – a phantasmagoria of every broken dream and every horror he had endured. I can make anything disappear, anything but my face.

"Erik." A feminine voice shattered his recollections, the stinging pain of his cut hands becoming noticeable. He stood, trying to look as composed as possible while standing in the middle of a porcelain mess, wearing a tea-stained, still open dress shirt as blood poured steadily down his hands.

Selena stood in the kitchen doorway clad in the dressing gown he had lent her, holding it tightly around her as if she feared it would unravel by itself leaving her once again exposed and at his mercy. If Erik had been ashamed before, it wholly consumed him as he saw her standing there, quivering.

"Mademoiselle Turnour, I offer my deepest apologies for any distress I may have caused you. I assure you I had no intention of making any untoward advances on your person," he said, maintaining his voice a completely neutral tone, despite his inner turmoil. It was an art he had been forced to master long ago when he learnt that showing one's emotions often led to a quick death.

"Before I accept an apology I believe I deserve an explanation," Selena retorted stubbornly.

Erik inclined his head at her demand, "That you do. Please allow me to clean up this mess. We may sit in the parlour and talk."

"Wait, no," Selena replied quickly. "You are injured. Allow me to clean up instead."

Erik stared at her, trying to detect any malicious intent, but was unable to find any so allowed her to prepare the tea as he went to the cupboard where he kept his medicines to find some ointment and gauze for his injured hands. Hesitating slightly, he took some extra. He had noticed welts lining the sides of Selena's back, likely due to some beating she had received. The bandages that should have been covering it had been removed, most likely for his pleasure, but such injuries could not be left to fester in the open for too long lest they become infected, which would prove tiresome and time-consuming to treat.

He returned to the parlour to find Selena was already sitting on the chaise lounge, carefully pouring the tea. She stood immediately when she saw him and Erik felt once again ashamed that she now feared him too much to even sit in his presence. He also found it amusing that she took her tea with her and was holding it protectively in front of her, obviously prepared to hurl it at him should the need arise.

Realising she would not lower her guard until she was met with an acceptable explanation Erik sighed and sat on his armchair, picking up his tea at the same time. "I will apologise again for any distress I may have caused though it was necessary. Believe me, had I any other choice I would have chosen it."

"Who was the man and what did he want?" Selena asked, still refusing to sit down.

"The Shah of Persia. He wished to ensure that I was making the most of my gift," Erik replied, gesturing in her general direction, "and I thought it best to indulge him."

"The Shah of Persia? Why would he come personally? Are you truly that important?" Selena was incredulous, and Erik noticed her death-like grip on her tea was softening.

"I am a useful asset and, as I said, you are not the first woman who has been brought to me. As for why he came personally, the Shah is a lewd man who takes pleasure in interrupting intimate moments for his own amusement. The Khanum most likely used this to convince him to come personally, certain that he would not voice any protest." Predicting Selena's next question Erik continued, "Moreover, servants and spies can be easily paid off, the Shah on the other hand, cannot. It ensures that the message relayed back to the Khanum is truthful."

"So the orders came from the Khanum." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, I am certain she holds a morbid interest in our relationship," Erik replied smoothly, pleased to find that Selena had become comfortable enough to perch cautiously on the edge of the chaise lounge. Much like gaining the trust of a wild animal, it was the small steps that should be celebrated.

"She is a truly horrid woman," Selena declared, before realisation stuck and she covered her mouth with her hands.

"That she is," Erik agreed, amused at Selena's words. "Though it is unwise to say such things in the presence of those who may impart the information back to her. That, my dear, would not end well for you."

"So you won't tell her?" Selena asked, quietly.

"Certainly not! Any insult towards that hag is music to my ears," Erik replied indignantly. As if he would go through all the trouble of hosting this girl only to abandon her to the Khanum's mercy shortly after.

"Thank you."

Erik only nodded in response, watching her sip her tea timidly. It struck him then how truly child-like she appeared. Abuse had hardened him but the tiny slip of a girl before him had most likely never had never had a harsh hand raised towards her until she came to Persia. All the pain and humiliation she was suffering was foreign to her and Erik did not know whether to feel pity or envy at her naïveté.

"Mademoiselle Turnour," he began, clearing his throat. "You may not believe me but I aim to ensure your wellbeing. Persia is a dangerous place, more dangerous than everything you have encountered. I may be one of the only people who means you no harm. Do not waste such protection. Now, tell me how you came to be here."

Selena nodded meekly in acknowledgement of his words, "I was at our winter home in Normandy. I was taking a carriage home when I heard a commotion outside and the carriage stopped. Then some men entered the carriage and put something in front of my nose and mouth and I passed out. I never found out what happened to the driver though I'm afraid I can guess. When I next awoke I was on a boat."

"Then I shall ensure your safe return home. It will not likely be soon but eventually, I will find a way." He hoped she realised that he rarely made vows.

She merely thanked him again and poured herself more tea. Impudent girl.

Erik cleared his throat once again, preparing himself for the discomfort of what he would say next, "I noticed that your back is injured," Selena blushed, knowing exactly how he had made such a discovery but Erik forced himself to continue, "and if it isn't properly treated and bandaged soon it runs the risk of becoming infected. I very much doubt you would be able to successfully see to it on your own so I politely offer my expertise if you wish it." Selena shifted uncomfortably, clearly torn between her modesty and survival. That must always be the question for her here, Erik thought sadly, modesty or survival.

After a while, she nodded hesitantly at him but did not move, clearly waiting for his direction and Erik began to regret his offer to help her.

Erik swallowed back a lump in his throat and motioned towards the bedroom, "It is best to do this on a bed."

He stood first, abandoning the tea in the parlour. Despite his hatred of leaving things unattended, sometimes priorities had to be set.

When they were both in the room Erik asked Selena to take off her shirt and lay on the bed face down before turning his back to give her privacy.

At her word he turned again to find her lying on the bed, trembling in fear with her face buried into the plush pillows. Her back was covered in cuts and welts, some of which would definitely leave marks though he doubted any were deep enough to need stitches, to his relief. He was surprised she had so many. The girl was clearly a slow learner… or stupid… both options seemed equally likely.

He sat on the bed and went about preparing the gauze and ointment. He warned her that it could sting before he began cleaning out her wounds. At his first touch he felt her trembling increase and swallowed down his sadness by trying to convince himself that her fear was not personal and that she would have feared any man who touched her in such a vulnerable position. His efforts were not particularly successful.

"What did you do to merit so many beatings?" he asked in an attempt to distract her.

"I kept trying to escape," came her muffled reply through the pillows.

He could not judge her for that. Many of his scars were also marks of failed escapes, though he was shocked at her perseverance. Perhaps there was hope for her after all.

"Did you not think to give up?" he inquired curiously.

"I couldn't give into them. I had to get home. I always hoped the next attempt would be successful. It wasn't until I got lost in the desert for over a week that I realised I had no hope."

"Mademoiselle, I cannot decide whether you are very brave or incredibly stupid," Erik affirmed, though he would not admit that he was impressed.

He finished cleaning her wounds in silence, pleased to find that she had calmed though he had been forced to ask for her help in bandaging the scars since he doubted she would have been pleased to see him wrapping the gauze around her breasts.

After he finished, he left her as she muttered a quiet 'thank you' from the bed.

Emotionally drained, he returned to the parlour to tidy the abandoned tea and poured himself a cup of whiskey, drowning away the memories of the girl who slept in his bed.


	9. The Markets

Spring 1851, Tehran – Selena's POV

Selena awoke early in the morning to a quiet knock at the door. Though she was usually a deep sleeper, she supposed her paranoia and fear had heightened her senses, allowing her to become more alert. 

Arranging the covers around her modestly she answered, inviting Erik in. She guessed it was Erik because she could not imagine who else would be in his house. Bahar's lessons made her suspect that he did not house servants.

As expected, Erik opened the door slowly though he did not enter, "Good morning," he began, as cordial as ever, "I hope you had a moderately pleasant sleep at least. We shall leave for the markets in half an hour." 

Selena shuffled out of bed after he had left, pleased to find that her back was pleasantly numb. As she put on the same immodest clothing that she had worn the previous day with a grimace, she could not help but think of Erik. 

He was a curious man who seemed both so dangerous and so gentle at the same time. He had ensured her safety and treated her wounds, refraining from doing anything too inappropriate. Though she neglected to mention it to Erik for fear of repercussions, she had noticed his discomfort as he laid on the bed with her the previous night, as well as the fact that, despite the opportunity, he had not looked below her head the entire time. He had also protected her modesty from the leering guards. He had been the perfect gentleman. Well… as perfect as one could be when laying over an unwilling partner to save her from the wrath of a sadistic queen mother. When had her life become so very complicated?

Despite everything, she was still unsure of whether she could trust him or not. People couldn't fear him for no reason other than appearance, of that she was certain. That would be foolish and prejudiced. 

Questions that she feared to ask riddled her mind. What did he do? Why did they call him the Angel of Death? He did not look like an angel, though he sounded like one. So why? Perhaps she could ask Bahar when she next saw her, should she gain the courage to do so. Part of her wanted to remain oblivious to Erik's dark side. It was easier to believe he was kind and trustworthy. 

He was a private man, clearly. Any attempt she made to pry into his past, no matter how innocuous was likely to be met with extreme hostility. Could she trust a man who hid himself so carefully? Was anything he said even truth?

She remembered Father Mansart and his teachings about Satan. He had preached so carefully about temptation and sin. About the fallen angel who lived to destroy.

He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies. John 8:44. Don't forget children. Even the devil was once an angel. Pray to the Lord and abandon temptation.

Was he the devil?

With plagued thoughts, she abandoned the sanctity of the bedroom to find Erik in the parlour.

Though he acknowledged her entrance they did not speak as he led her towards the bustling city outside the quiet palace walls. It was still early and only servants moved to and fro, too busy with their chores to pay them much notice though the few that did shied away from Erik who in turn merely continued walking, giving no indication that he had seen their reaction. 

Selena, for her part, remained demure, guessing that she too should act afraid of the imposing man who glided purposefully before her. 

At the palace doors, she was surprised to find a mighty black Arabian stallion already waiting, with only a stable boy watching it warily. It was not tacked, to Selena's confusion, as she did not understand what his purpose was. Even if he was only there to transport their purchased goods, it would surely still require reins. It was clearly Erik's horse as it snorted at his master’s approach, his ears shooting up happily. Erik walked up to the horse offering it an apple, which he took gratefully, nuzzling its master affectionately. Erik then turned back to the Selena, gesturing for her to approach the beast.

He allowed her to stroke the horse while informing her that his name was Orion before heaving himself onto its bare back while extending his arm down to help her sit comfortably behind him… or at least as comfortably as one can be when sitting on a horse's spine. She had tried to sit side saddle but Erik scolded her promptly, telling her that no horse of his would be subject to such an uncomfortable riding position.

"Does he not need to be tacked? How will he know where to go?" Selena asked, confused about Erik's confidence.

"He knows," Erik replied simply, leaving Selena with no answers and more questions than before.

The peasants gave her a wide berth as they travelled through the dusty roads towards the markets, the populace either shuffling away or bowing deeply without ever raising their head to look at the couple astride the horse. Not unused to such reverence on the rare occasion her carriage passed through the slums of London, Selena took little notice of their reaction, concentrating instead on the unfamiliar riding position she was in, keenly aware of her proximity to Erik.

The market that they went to, which Erik told her was more commonly called a bazaar, was at once the same and utterly different to the markets of London. Partially covered and partially outdoors it was already bustling despite the early hours. Merchants sold products to eager buyers while others scurried around searching for their desired items. It seemed like everything was available, from food to clothing and Selena soaked up the lively atmosphere gratefully.

Erik helped her down from Orion before descending as well in his usual unnatural grace. He then turned to her, his entire posture serious. "Stay close."

Selena followed Erik through the market as they stopped at different stalls, Orion trailing obediently behind, ordering the furniture that she chose. Selena was surprised that Erik never voiced any protest, accepting her preferences and merely depositing coins into the hands of the eagerly awaiting merchants. 

"Erik," Selena began after they had left their third stall, "is it not custom to barter?"

Erik did not turn but replied anyway. "They ask for however much they need. I can afford the original price so why barter?"

Before Selena could reply two young street urchins jumped out of a side alley landing in front of Erik, clearly in a failed attempt to scare him and Selena guessed that the three had met before. The children were very young, the eldest could be no older than nine though poverty made them seem more youthful. 

To Selena's surprise, Erik knelt down to their height. With a flourish, two coins appeared in each of his hands and with another, they disappeared. The children gawked and clapped happily as Erik then made the coins appear out of the children's ears before placing the coins into their eagerly awaiting hands. The children scurried off, likely to show their treasure to their families.

Erik then turned to Selena, handing her a large bag of coins, "This is for you. Indulge yourself but do not dare to return any and do not stray too far. Leave the purchases with the merchants. They will deliver them later."

Selena wandered through the market, buying trinkets, tasting delicacies and buying clothes that she deemed were of modest fashion all the while making sure she could still see Erik from the corner of her eye, who walked from stall to stall making his own purchases. 

Sufficiently sated and with half her money spent, she tried desperately to find anything else that caught her interest. Finding herself unable to do so she panicked, fearing Erik's reaction should she attempt to return the money. Desperate, she ducked into a side alley, hoping to give the rest of the money to some resting beggars but was surprised to find herself completely alone.

Turning to return to the main street, she found herself face to face with a tall man who grinned at her through rotting teeth. She began walking away from the man only to bump into another figure, this time a shorter, more stout man who leered at her through a boil-covered face.

Selena tried to duck under them but found herself being grabbed by pudgy hands and thrown against a wall. Selena attempted to scream but the sting of a slap silenced her quickly. They pried her hand open, grabbing the money bag from her hand and ran… only to skid to a stop as Erik and Mr Khan appeared at the mouth of the alley. 

Erik left Mr Khan to arrest the men as he approached Selena who shrank away from his glare.

"I told you not to stray," he said stonily, his voice frigid.

"I'm sorry." Selena muttered in reply, too scared to look at him as he helped her up, checking the back of her head for injuries.

Erik walked Selena back to Orion, who waited patiently, munching on some apples that Erik had purchased for him. 

Mr Khan and the thieves had disappeared, likely already in transit to wherever the apprehended criminals were taken and Selena felt guilty that she was unable to thank him for his assistance.

Their return home was uneventful but quiet with Selena being too scared of Erik's wrath to dare to utter a word. What was worse, the thieves had taken his money and he had not been able to retrieve it.

When they arrived, Erik directed her to an empty room and told her it could be hers before promptly leaving her, stating that he had pressing matters to attend to, leaving her alone to plan her bedroom.

Seeing as she had never had to plan her own chambers she was at a loss, trying to remember what her mother had done to draw inspiration and, finding none, opted instead to clean it and hope for the best. Being inexperienced in cleaning as well – with only Bahar's limited lessons to help her – she took her time sweeping the slightly dusty floor and scrubbing the lavatory with whatever implements she was able to find.

Shortly after she had finished her cleaning and had found herself once again staring at the bare room in a hopeless attempt to style it, she heard a knock at the door. She promptly left her planning to hide behind the door, though she was confident that it would do her no good if he came to search for her.

She was so convinced that it was the Shah that she was shocked to recognise the voice of the kindly Mr Khan, who she had seen only an hour before. Cautiously, she approached the front door to find Mr Khan and Erik speaking. Erik seemed mildly irritated to see the man again though he was placated by the money bag the Persian man placed in his hand. It was the bag that they had stolen from her.

When Mr Khan saw her, he smiled, "Ah, Miss Turnour, I am pleased to find you in good health. The men who robbed you have been dealt with and will not be a threat to anyone again, that I can assure you. Now, would I be able to trouble you for some tea?"

That was how Selena found herself sitting once again in Erik’s parlour as Mr Khan, who had asked her to call him Nadir, enraptured her with tales of Persian kings of old as Erik lounged back in his armchair looking positively bored, much to Nadir's amusement. He was surprisingly proficient in English for a man who had never travelled there but he explained that he had met many English-speaking travellers who had been happy to teach him their language.

Her initial impression of Nadir had been correct. He appeared to be a kind and honourable man with a great interest in justice and law, something that she found lacking in the country. Being of noble birth, he was granted the position of chief of police, which he considered his duty above all else. Despite this, there was a glint of something akin to… sadness… in his eyes.

"Erik," Nadir began after finishing a rather interesting story about the current Shah's father, causing Erik to look up from his close inspection of the tabletop, "I am assuming you will be departing to Mazandaran soon?"

"Obviously," Erik snorted. "Not even the Khanum can deter me from my work for too long."

"Would Reza be able to deter you temporarily, perhaps?" Nadir continued, looking suddenly a hundred years older. "I have received word that he has–"

"Worsened." It wasn't a question and Selena was left wondering who Reza was, "Can we leave in three days?"

Nadir only nodded in reply, too overcome by emotion to speak.

"Then that is when we depart. Miss Turnour will accompany us," Erik declared and Selena could not do much else but nod in assent.

Erik's solidarity towards Nadir was a new side of him that Selena had not yet seen and she realised that the two men were good friends, perhaps better than either would dare to admit. 

Suddenly, there was another knock at the door, which Nadir opened, allowing a merchant and two large men to enter.

"It appears your rooms have arrived, Miss Turnour. I will leave you to prepare." Nadir nodded his head to both inhabitants of the apartments and left.

Selena directed the trembling men to her room as Erik followed behind. She led the men to where she wanted her furniture placed as Erik watched menacingly from a corner.


	10. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you’ve all had a great week! I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Spring 1851, Tehran – Erik’s POV

After the merchants had left, Erik made his way to his rooms, pleased that he once again had the privacy he valued so highly. It was just as he had left it but everything was different. Memories had an uncanny ability to disturb one’s peace.

He could still see Selena lying innocently on his bed, her hair splayed on the pillow… Stop! Such thoughts would do him no good. He knew his place in the world and it would never be beside a woman. Hopes and dreams are for children.

The girl merely tolerated him because he provided security. There was no point in believing that any more would develop.

In an attempt to distract himself, he made his way to his study, carefully selecting ingredients that would prove beneficial to Reza’s deteriorating health or, at least, that would provide some comfort to the ailing boy.

His experiments kept him occupied until he was distracted by a knock at the door. As he stalked towards it he decided that anyone who bothered him for the next month would lose their head.

At the door stood a quivering servant who quickly mumbled that the Khanum wished to see him and Selena that morning, before scurrying away. Sighing, Erik returned to his medicine. The Khanum would likely remain asleep until the late hours of the morning so there was no point disturbing Selena. 

He busied himself with his craft until midmorning when he heard shuffling in the kitchen, signifying that Selena had risen. 

He followed the sound of clanging to the kitchen, finding her on top of a counter, rummaging through the top shelf in search of food. 

“Looking for something?” Erik asked, amused as Selena jumped at his voice, banging her head against the shelf.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, still rubbing her sore head, “I was hungry. And it is rude to find such amusement in scaring me.”

Erik enjoyed the confident streak that shone through her usually demure nature. Evidently, she had been taught assertiveness was not a trait she was expected to possess as a noblewoman and had done her best to hide it. Her own little mask.

“Schadenfreude,” he replied, opening a hidden panel in the wall to reveal a pantry.

“You have a hidden pantry? That seems a bit excessive,” Selena commented, though she did not hesitate to help herself to some bread and jam. 

“Perhaps,” Erik replied, too dignified to admit that he merely did not wish for people to believe that he was human enough to eat. Clearing his throat, he changed the topic. “The Khanum wishes for our presence at around noon.”

“Why?” Selena asked, pausing her jam spreading.

“I would guess that she wishes to question us and… well… our… relationship. Do not forget what I told you to do in such a circumstance.”

Selena nodded hesitantly, “Erik,” she began, “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“Bazaars are dangerous. You should not have moved away from my watch.”

“I know,” she mumbled, ashamed.

Erik resisted the urge to clear his throat again to fill the awkward silence that fell between them, “Never mind about that. I would advise you to ready yourself. We leave soon.”

He left the kitchen and returned to his rooms in search of a more imposing mask, choosing a black leather one that accentuated his unnatural eyes, pleased to find that Selena seemed perturbed when she saw him in it.

Their walk to the harem was quiet, with Selena quite likely being nervous to see the Khanum so soon. He understood her feelings because although he did not fear the Khanum, he did not enjoy being in her presence for any longer than was strictly necessary.

The eunuchs guarding the entrance opened the doors for them without a word and Erik walked ahead while ensuring that Selena followed obediently behind as any good concubine should.

The Khanum lounged, as always, on her divan, seemingly unable to find any other position. It was imposing, he supposed, to appear so relaxed basking in one’s power but Erik found it vulgar. To show an enemy everything leaves one open to attack. Erik had already developed over thirty ways to hurt her permanently, not including all the temporary ones–

“My dear magician,” the Khanum exclaimed, disturbing him from his slightly homicidal thoughts, “how have you enjoyed your gift?”

“She has been sufficiently… pleasing. I thank you deeply for your most gracious gift.” Erik responded through clenched teeth, already regretting not informing the Khanum that he was too preoccupied to indulge her with a visit. It wasn't like she wouldn’t believe him.

“I am glad,” the Khanum purred. Erik resisted the urge to gag. “Though I was surprised to find you indulging her with so many gifts. She must be truly talented to merit so much.”

Erik swallowed back a vicious retort. “She is, though I wish to keep my bedroom my own. Therefore, she will need her own if I tire of her presence. Moreover, is it not common to indulge one’s concubine? Or is it merely a Western tradition?” 

The Khanum’s smile did not disappear though a dangerous glint appeared in her eyes. “You make a fair point.” She then directed her attention to Selena, “And you, my dear, what say you of your master’s talents?”

While an older woman translated for the Khanum, Erik resisted the urge to flinch at his given title. It was not a word that he ever wanted associated with him… ever.

Selena, to her credit, was quite the little actress. She lurched forward, kneeling before the amused Queen Mother and burst into inconsolable sobs. “Please, most gracious Khanum, allow me to retire from my duties. Though they are an honour, it is ceaseless torture. Please!”

Though Erik knew it was merely an act, it was still painful to be reminded that the pretence would most likely be reality if she had truly shared his bed. No woman will ever look upon me with anything but fear.

The Queen cackled as Selena finished her begging, entertained, as predicted, by Selena’s suffering, “My dear, sweet child, your duties have barely begun. You will continue to serve my favourite magician until such time as he deems you tiresome.”

Selena sobbed louder as the message was translated, making the Khanum’s grin widen and Erik’s shame grow. She should be living peacefully in her home dreaming of handsome knights, not stuck with a deformed genius who had a penchant for murder and theft.

“You are free to go. I assume you shall be returning to Mazandaran soon?” Erik merely nodded in reply, “Well then goodbye, my friend. I wish you many more nights of satisfaction.”

Erik grabbed Selena’s arm, who was still sobbing on the floor, in an attempt to maintain a semblance of their perceived relationship and all but dragged her out of the harem and back to their apartments.

When they reached the apartments, Selena began wiping the tears from her eyes as her sobs instantly subsided,

“Do you think she believed me?” Selena asked, her voice still shaky.

Erik snorted, “If she hadn’t you would be dead.”

Selena shuffled nervously and lapsed into silence. There was clearly something she wanted to ask but was too scared to do so.

“If there is something you wish to say then for God’s sake just say it,” Erik exclaimed, his patience dangerously thin after the conversation with the Khanum.

“There are actually three things that I’d like to say.” He gestured for her to continue. “Firstly, I would like to thank you for everything you have done for me. I am truly grateful.”

“I am not doing it for you.” Erik replied, half regretting his words after seeing the hurt look that shadowed her face.

She forced herself to continue, “Anyway, I would also like to ask you if it would be possible to visit a friend of mine–“

“Friend?” Erik interrupted, incredulous.

“Well, not friend. More of an acquaintance. She helped me when I arrived. Her name is Bahar and she was the translator for the Khanum,” Selena continued.

Erik reclined on his armchair, “Ah yes, her. I can try but it will take time. We leave soon for Ashraf and then Mazandaran. Then, we will have to await an occasion where I can allow you to speak away from prying eyes. There are many variables to consider.”

Selena merely nodded in acceptance, though her gaze was downcast. “My final question regards where we are going.”

“We are going to the Daroga’s estate in Ashraf, to visit Reza. We then move on to Mazandaran where I am building a palace for the Shah,” he explained.

“Why must I go?” she questioned.

Erik smiled sardonically, “Would you rather remain? You would be expected to stay in the harem with the Khanum, who would likely deem you a failure as a concubine as you could not even convince me to take you.” Selena gulped.

“Who’s Reza?” she asked suddenly.

Erik froze. “Those are four things.”

Selena looked slightly ashamed. “I understand but I would like to know… if you do not mind.”

Erik sighed, forcing himself to calm down. Questions were not sins, “Reza is the Daroga’s son. He is ill and I have treatments that help.”

“I thought you were an architect,” Selena cried out in an accusatory manner.

“I dabble in many areas,” Erik replied smoothly, crossing his legs elegantly.

“Jack of all trades, master of none, though oftentimes better than master of one,” She mumbled in response, thinking that he could not hear her.

“I would say I have mastered most,” Erik replied, amused as she looked up in surprise.

“You heard me?”

Erik chuckled. “I have unnaturally good hearing. In fact, all my senses are far more attuned than most people’s.”

“Well then, what else have you mastered?” she asked.

“Magic, ventriloquism… music.” Erik stared longingly at the stack of papers that contained his compositions.

“Music!” Selena’s voice roused him from his thoughts. “What can you play?”

Erik snorted. “Anything, my dear. Otherwise I would not have mastered it now would I?”

“Would you…” Selena paused shyly. “would you be willing to play something for me?”

Erik stood so suddenly that Selena flinched away, likely expecting him to lash out in anger but he ignored her, walking purposefully towards his violin and taking it carefully out of its case. He walked back to the startled girl in the parlour and began tuning the instrument.

“Do you have a favourite song?” he asked, not pausing in his tuning.

“No. Why don’t you play something that you really like. I think music is always best when the musician plays something from the heart.”

Erik paused, considering her words, before placing the violin under his chin and lifting the bow.

As he played the world disappeared. Music called to him like an ancient master swirling and consuming everything before him. He was its humble servant, ready at its beck and call to do its bidding and perform its masterpieces. 

Memories surfaced, as the emotions in the song rose. An ancient church organ, a white-stucco house, soft grass, a large tree and bars on windows. Specks of white and brown danced before him and a warm tongue licked the tears from his bare face. 

The song reached a crescendo. He heard a piano play and saw snow. So pure, so soft, so red. Blood poured down towards him and sharp stones hit his body. The brown and white specks stood still.

Too soon the song ended. Erik lowered his bow slowly, overcome by emotion. Tears threatened to fall but he pushed them back. It would not do to show emotion in front of the girl.

Selena felt no such reservations. Tears poured freely down her cheeks as she stared at him in wonder. He was not surprised, his music made everyone weep.

After a long silence, in which only their mingled breathing was heard, Selena spoke. “That was beautiful. I’ve never heard it before.”

Erik shuffled shyly, feeling suddenly childish and self-conscious, as his mind was still plagued by emotions, “It is an original, a requiem.”

“For whom?”

Erik was forced to blink back tears again, refusing to let Selena see his sadness, his guilt. “Sasha.”

“Was she a past lover of yours?”

Erik burst out laughing, deciding to blame it on his uncontrolled emotions, “She was a dog.”

Selena’s cheeks turned crimson, realising her mistake, “Oh… what happened to her?”

“She died,” Erik replied simply, unwilling to relay the story.

Likely sensing his uneasiness, Selena decided to change the subject, “So how will we travel to Ashraf?”

Erik silently thanked her digression. “By horse, of course. We will be riding fifty miles a day at most so it should take us around three days to reach Ashraf. The palace is only being built around half a mile away from Ashraf so that journey will be blessedly short in comparison.”

“Well, that is good.” Selena hesitated to continue. “I will go rest, if you do not mind. I think that the visit with the Khanum has left me rather weary and I am sure that you have better things to do than entertain me.”

Erik nodded in assent, refusing to admit that he wished for her to stay, never having had such friendly conversation with a member of the fairer sex. It was surprisingly pleasant and he was not quite prepared to let her go, certain that such an opportunity would not present itself again for quite a while.

“Well then… I’ll go,” Selena stuttered before scurrying off back to her rooms.

Erik sighed and went to put his violin gently back in its case but was suddenly startled by a burst of inspiration and he ran to his parchment, desperate to get as much on paper as soon as possible, quickly forgetting his sadness at Selena’s departure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTICE: I just noticed that I accidentally forgot to add the chapter before this. I'm really sorry. It isn't too important since it's just a bit of a filler but I like it.


	11. The Desert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Warning: This chapter does contain themes that might be triggering to some individuals, including attempted rape, so proceed with caution. If you want to know what happens in this chapter but do not want to read it I will give you a summary.

Spring 1851, Persian Desert – Erik’s POV

Erik awoke early in the morning of their departure and was not surprised to find his charge still in her room, most likely asleep. It was expected as she was a noblewoman who was used to being woken up by a maid late in the morning, but Erik found it irritating to have to host such a pampered child. He was surprised she knew how to dress herself and make tea. 

Aristocracy was not high on the list of things Erik liked having in his presence. He found them to be ignorant, narcissistic and utterly clueless about the state of the world. Sitting at the top of the world, being given everything without doing anything, trying to be gods. 

Sighing, Erik stalked to her door, knocking loudly enough to wake her. He heard, with grim satisfaction, her gasp as she was startled awake and glared down as she opened the door looking blearily up at him.

“Good morning, Miss Turnour. I am sorry to disturb your sleep but I must insist that you get ready. The sooner we leave, the sooner we arrive.” 

Selena, much to his chagrin, only nodded before closing the door in his face without so much as a world. The nerve of the girl!

He stormed to her breakfast, that was already waiting innocently on the table, to check its contents for a final time, knowing that everything was in place but needing something to do so he would not throttle the girl. 

Their trunks had already departed so they would not slow down the procession. He had considered taking his violin but was too unwilling to allow any damage to come to it during such rough travels. His music would have to wait.

He turned to glare at Selena as she opened the door, finding himself slightly appeased when he noted she had dressed comfortably for travel and had already prepared a case of items that she would need for the journey.

She looked sheepishly up at him. “I’m sorry about my previous rudeness. I’m rather despondent when I’m tired.”

Erik merely made a humming sound in response, gesturing vaguely towards the table in the parlour where a light meal was already waiting for her. “Eat quickly.”

As Selena ate as quickly as she deemed appropriate for her noble manners and Erik glared daggers into her back, hoping that it would scare her into eating faster, four cowering servants arrived to collect their cases of necessities. After they had left, Erik was infuriated to find her still nibbling away.

“If you would like to finish sometime this century that would be lovely.” Selena jumped at the comment and hastened her eating… slightly. Erik groaned internally and resigned himself to his fate. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Selena finished and they departed, heading towards the palace entry where his faithful Orion would be waiting patiently.

Selena fidgeted incessantly by Erik’s side, succeeding in irritating him even more. “What is the matter with you today?”

Selena flinched. “I am just not that excited to travel again after my last experience.”

“What if you knew that journey would return you to your family. Would you mind so much then?”

Selena made no reply. 

Erik was pleased to find that his horse was indeed waiting for him while indulging himself in the most water he would receive before arriving at Ashraf. The daroga and his ever-faithful servant Darius were also waiting with their respective horses, though the servant also held a gelding that Erik knew to be named Dana. He was a beast of gentle disposition so he assumed it would be Selena’s mount. He had ordered for the servants to pick her a horse since he was unwilling to allow Orion to carry the burden of a second person for such a tiring journey. 

The daroga nodded to them at their arrival and proceeded to introduce Selena to his servant and her horse before Darius turned to help her onto her mount.

Erik turned to greet Orion, offering him an apple which he chewed on happily. “Whatever will I do with that foolish child, my friend? She will be the death of me.” Orion merely blinked at him in response and Erik sighed, moving to mount him.

Their journey began pleasantly enough as the sun had not yet risen so high as to glare mercilessly down on them.

Erik removed a small novel from a pocket in his cloak and began to read, hoping that it would ensure that he would not be disturbed. 

Selena, he soon learned, was unable to discern some basic social cues.

 

“What are you reading?” she asked, riding up to him.

Erik glared. “A book.”

“Well I can see that. What book?”

Resigning himself to the incessant questions that were bound to come spewing out of her delicate lips, he closed the book.

“Frankenstein by Mary Shelly. I do not presume you have any interest in such novels.” He muttered through gritted teeth.

Selena scrunched her nose in disgust. “Oh no. Father banned us from reading it. I heard it is a rather blasphemous book about a man who wished to be God and created a monster.”

Erik was disappointed to note that it was exactly what he expected her to say. “I disagree. Creation is not a great a sin as abandonment.” 

Selena bristled. “One cannot play God and expect no consequences.”

What was left of Erik’s temper snapped. “Do you not play God when you decide for yourself whose sins will lead to damnation and whose will not?” Selena tried to respond but he did not let her. “Do not try do deny it. How many times have you damned Muslims for their religion since you arrived? How many times have you damned a loose woman?” Selena remained silent. “You cannot deny it, can you? Know this, you naïve child, to give someone life only to abandon them when they are deemed unnatural is the greatest sin, the most damnable sin.”

Infuriated, Erik urged Orion into a gentle trot to ride ahead, where he did not have to look at the infuriating girl.

It would seem that he would never find peace because shortly afterward the daroga made his way to him. To his credit, however, he did not speak, knowing that words would not be appreciated in that moment.

“What do you want, Daroga?” he asked eventually, knowing that he would not be left alone until the conversation was over.

“You know she meant no harm,” the Persian responded simply.

“It does not mean that she caused none.”

The daroga sighed but persisted. “She is ignorant, Erik. You cannot expect her to guess what you have not told her.”

Erik was no fool, and clearly understood the daroga’s not so subtal message. “Nor will I tell her. As you said, she is ignorant and will remain so until I find a way to get her out of this blasted country without compromising my position at court.”

Nadir sighed once again and re-joined Selena and Darius, who seemed to be struggling to understand each other through their language barrier. The three quickly fell into a rather humorous conversation, leaving Erik to sulk alone.

Unwilling to observe them, Erik returned to his book, losing himself within the tale of Frankenstein’s tragic creation, of his flight to the home of a kindly old man who took pity on him. His longing for companionship, his resignation to hiding in uninhabitable places where his horrid visage would cause no harm. Yes, indeed, Erik, like the Creature, was doomed to wander the earth, feared, unloved, unnatural. Talent is worthless if one isn’t beautiful. 

“Erik,” the daroga called out, disturbing him from his thoughts. “We will make camp here tonight. Selena needs to rest.”

Of course she does. Erik looked around and was pleased to find that the daroga had selected a sparsely vegetated area, with ridges that would provide sufficient shelter for the night. 

They prepared to make camp swiftly, aware that night was falling fast. Only after a pleasant fire crackled in the centre of the camp and the horses were tended to did they sit upon their makeshift beds. Selena ate some dried meat and immediately excused herself, falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and Darius followed shortly after. 

Erik was left watching the daroga, who stared thoughtfully into the flames, his brow furrowed in worry and grief. 

“You are certain,” he began, “that there is nothing that can be done.”

Erik grimaced. “Would that there were. Your son cannot be saved, Nadir. All you can do is make him comfortable.”

The daroga seemed to choke back a sob. “He does not deserve this.”

“No, but in my experience, people rarely get what they deserve.”

The daroga merely nodded in response and they stared once again into the flames, plagued by their thoughts.

Erik broke the silence. “It is late, you should rest. I will stand guard.”

Once again the daroga nodded his assent and went to his bed, leaving Erik alone with his thoughts.

There was no doubt that Reza would die. If he could he would take the boy’s place but the world was not so kind. Perhaps someday it would be a more merciful place though Erik very much doubted it. 

Erik took out his journal and began to write.

Human nature is the source of pain and evil. It has caused the world’s greatest tragedies. It is laced in greed, bigotry, lust… there is little compassion in the world.

Compassion…

Compassion is underestimated. 

So often people assume that compassion is weakness and ignorance. Such a simple thing, to be kind yet so difficult to do. All that must be done is to put aside one’s differences and accept that all creatures are deserving of respect. 

Yet good men kill every day.

No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted. The wise words of the famed Aesop. 

I do not pretend to be a good man. Or a merciful one. But I strive to be—

Erik’s writing was interrupted by a shiver of warning that ran up his neck. Someone was watching them. 

Erik casually placed his book into his cloak and rose, gently awakening the daroga.

“Come now, wake up, it is your shift. I must rest,” he muttered, shaking the older man’s shoulders.

The daroga grumbled but catching Erik’s eyes stopped and nodded almost imperceptibly. 

“Wake my servant up,” he replied loudly, “I wish for some company.”

Erik nodded and awoke Darius who also quickly deduced what was happening. 

“Actually, my friend. I wish for some more… feminine company,” the daroga exclaimed, “I am certain you do not mind sharing.”

Erik felt a faint prick of jealousy but gulped it down, knowing that there was no truth in the daroga’s words. 

He awakened her with a shake and grabbed her squirming body, half-dragging her to the daroga. Amidst their movements he had time to mutter, “Play along. We are being watched.” He then walked to his bed and pretended to sleep.

The men watching them, clearly having decided that it was time to strike, left their hiding places and ran towards them with a mighty roar.

“First mistake,” Erik muttered in a thief’s ear as he dispatched him, “trying to steal from me.”

“Second mistake,” Erik continued, slaying another, “being so dreadfully loud.”

As he strangled a third man with his Punjab lasso he heard Selena scream. He turned to find her being dragged by a man onto a horse and riding away.

Erik muttered a string of French curses that would have made Mademoiselle Perrault swoon and ran to Orion, who, sensing his master’s distress, immediately sped up to a gallop as Erik leapt upon his back and turned him in the direction where the other man had taken Selena. 

Being petty thieves, the men were not skilled at covering their tracks and Erik followed them easily enough. The man had not gotten far, evidently too eager to test out his new toy.

He found the man hovering over Selena who screamed and struggled, hopelessly trying to dislodge the larger man who was trying to loosen his robes while holding her down. Blood poured out of her split lip, her face showing clear signs of bruising.

Erik swung his lasso about the man’s throat and whispered into his ear, “Third mistake. Hurting her.” With that he jerked his lasso taut and heard the satisfying snap of the man’s neck breaking and he fell in a heap onto Selena who screamed and dislodged herself from the man, before getting up and stumbling to Erik.

He was surprised to find how pleasing it was to not be feared by a woman, to be trusted enough for her to hold onto him as if he were her salvation. He had little time to think of it however, since Selena seemed to be on the verge of panicking.

Instead he grabbed her shoulders, “You are all right, you are all right. I will check on your face when we get back to camp but we cannot stay here.”

She nodded and allowed him to help her onto Orion and they rode back promptly, though it was not as rushed as the previous chase.

At their arrival, Erik found Nadir and Darius disposing of the bodies that littered their camp. Though Nadir had a cut on his brow and Darius was limping they appeared generally unharmed and seemed relieved to find that Erik and Selena were alive.

Erik helped the still trembling girl down from his horse and walked her gently to her makeshift bed, handing her a flask of water which she drank gratefully.

“May I look at your face now?” he asked gently, only approaching at her nod. He gently touched her cheek and for a moment mourned the fact that his hands were gloved, though he quickly dismissed his qualms. It was best that she did not require them touching her face. 

Though her cheek was bruised and her lip was split she had no other injuries, and, other than a balm to help heal her lip there was not much that could be done. 

Erik moved his hands away from her. It would not do to taint her with his presence for longer than strictly necessary. “You will be fine but you should rest.”

Selena shook her head ferociously. “No, I can’t.”

Erik understood her fears. Dreams could often be far more terrifying than reality so he merely notified her that he would keep watch and left her to her own devices.

“Erik,” her voice sounded through the darkness, after both Darius and the daroga had once again fallen asleep, “would you mind if I read Frankenstein?”

Erik looked at her terrified eyes, reflecting the campfire before her and realised that there was nothing he could ever deny the frustrating girl so he handed her his precious book, though not without voicing empty threats of what would happen should she damage it.

He watched her devour the book she had despised so much and found himself wondering how she could have wormed herself into his heart so stealthily.


	12. Ashraf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry that this chapter took longer than expected. I've been caught up in my summer internship and haven't had much leisure time.

Spring and Summer 1851, Ashraf – Selena’s POV

They arrived in Ashraf as the sun set in the west, bathing Nadir’s home in a warm, dying light. Nadir’s estate was not overly large but it had a homey feel to it, something that Selena had found lacking in the cold marble of the Shah’s palace. 

Servants bustled around, pruning the garden and cleaning the house though they all stopped and bowed at their arrival, two stable boys dashing through the small crowd to assist them with their horses. 

They all seemed to know Erik, though they seemed far less nervous than the servants in the palace, a curious change in behaviour, though Erik did not seem perturbed at all while he gave the younger stable boy stern orders, most likely regarding the treatment of his precious steed.

As they entered through the large doors Selena found herself struck by how cozy everything looked, despite its size.

She was even more surprised by the boy who came stumbling into the foyer, falling into Erik’s awaiting arms in a fit of giggles. Reza.

The boy was ill. That much was clear. Even as he laughed as Erik spoke to him in Farsi and handed him gifts, he struggled to stay upright. He then proceeded to fumble to the awaiting arms of his father who picked him up and hugged him. Perhaps Erik had underestimated the boy’s illness. The child before her seemed to be dying.

A servant came and directed Selena towards her rooms, where she could refresh herself after the long journey. It was a luxurious room, albeit smaller and simpler than what she was used to, with only a bed, a desk and a wardrobe. She supposed guest rooms were usually impersonal. She changed into new clothing that she had bought at the market and washed her face in a cold water basin that the servants had provided and then organised her belongings neatly into the closet. After she deemed herself presentable she left her rooms.

She was surprised to find Erik on the other side of the door, his hand half-raised in a fist. After a few seconds of surprised staring Erik coughed awkwardly, attempting to compose himself. “I just came to ask if everything was to your liking.”

“Yes, it’s a nice room,” Selena replied, slightly amused as his mouth contorted into mild disgust as he peeked inside her room. So he disagrees.

Moving his eyes from the room back to Selena he addressed her again. “My room is at the end of the hall if you need anything. If you are ready I would like to introduce you to Reza. He’s been asking about you.” 

Selena merely nodded in response and followed Erik to Reza’s room. He was playing with a music box in the shape of a monkey dressed on Persian robes. The boy clapped as the monkey clashed the cymbals it held in each hand to the rhythm of the music box’s tune. He looked up as Erik and Selena entered and his eyes brightened. He began speaking quickly in Farsi to Selena and she found herself unable to do much other than smile and nod politely. Eventually he stopped speaking and looked at her expectantly. Evidentially, he had asked her a question.

Luckily for Selena, Erik decided at that moment to come to her rescue and kneeled before the sickly boy, speaking to him in calm tones. As he spoke, Reza began to look increasingly abashed and looked down shamefully. 

Erik smiled and drew the boy to his chest. “Reza wants to apologise. He didn't know that you don't speak Farsi. He was merely commenting on how happy he is that you’re here and that you are very pretty. He also asked whether you are enjoying Ashraf.”

Selena smiled and touched Reza’s shoulders, urging him to look at her. “It’s perfectly alright, I completely understand. I think Ashraf is beautiful and I must thank you for being such an attentive host.”

Reza’s eyes brightened and an excited smile returned to his face as Erik translated Selena’s reply. He very quickly resumed his rapid talking to which Erik happily indulged him. It was such an intimate moment that Selena felt as if she were intruding and she found herself slinking back into the shadows as best she could.

“Reza has asked whether you would like to play a game of chess with us,” Erik translated, “he says he wishes to be on your team.”

“Team?” Selena questioned, baffled.

Erik laughed as he stood to retrieve a chess board from a cupboard. “Well, we cannot play a three-way chess game so we will have to make do with teams. Reza has been practicing and claims that he is now better than I am.”

Reza was certainly not as good as Erik though he won every game. Selena could see the mischievous look in Erik’s eye every time he ‘accidentally’ placed his queen in a compromising spot or failed to notice a particularly good move. Reza’s happiness seemed to be his only true goal and Erik proudly declared Reza a chess grandmaster as they finished their last game. 

Since Reza was getting tired, Erik suggested he could perform a magic show. Mr Khan joined them then and together the three watched Erik perform a series of complex magic tricks and illusions. Selena and Mr Khan clapped and gasped along with Reza, who seemed so fascinated that his fatigue had almost deserted him. Almost. 

The performance ended as Reza fell asleep on his father’s lap, exhausted from the day’s activities.

As Nadir tucked his son into bed, Erik escorted Selena back to her room, declaring that he would retrieve her the next morning for breakfast.

Despite the peacefulness of Ashraf, sleep didn't come easily to Selena that night. She tossed and turned in the bed but no position was comfortable enough and, after several unsuccessful hours, she decided to get up and take a walk to clear her head.

She padded silently down the hallway, and headed towards the kitchen, hoping to find some snacks to distract her from her raging thoughts. 

So much had happened to her in the last few weeks. A kidnapping, a cruel queen, a mysterious masked man, an honourable policeman. It seemed like something she would read in a novel, not her life. It had all been so simple before, with her greatest worries being the coming season and her father’s pressure to find a suitor. 

Erik was another mystery. He was an eternal contradiction. He was both predictable and volatile, kind and cruel, gentle and brutish. How could a man be so many things at once? Could he be trusted? Why was he–

Her thoughts were interrupted as she entered the kitchen. Several candles burnt brightly on the table on which a hunched Erik seemed to be tinkering with a toy of sorts. Though he had his back to her she could see him lift the soldier automaton which walked a few steps before spasming and collapsing upon the table, upon which Erik would release a grunt of frustration. After several failed attempts Erik let out a muffled scream and flung the soldier angrily at the wall, where it let out a decisive clank and fell to the ground.

What shocked her was to see Erik collapse back onto the chair and cradle his masked head in his hands as his shoulder racked with silent sobs. 

“Erik,” she murmured, causing Erik to spin around while furiously blinking the tears from his eyes, “you’re crying.”

Erik dug hid fingers into the eye sockets of his mask, wiped his eyes and sniffed. “I am not, it was just some dust. It makes my eyes terribly irritated.”

Selena looked at him pityingly. “It’s Reza. He’s dying, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Erik croaked, “he’s just a boy, just a little boy. He’s barely ten.”

“It’s alright to mourn, Erik,” Selena said, reaching out to him. “It isn’t a weakness. I’m certain that God will allow him a merciful death.”

Erik flinched away from her extended hand, his eyes becoming suddenly expressionless. “There is no mercy with his ailment, none at all. Unless… I know what I must do.”

With that he walked past Selena and strode down the corridor muttering. “There are many things I will need and not much time. Research, first I must do some research. I know I have seen the perfect one somewhere…”

Selena looked after him in puzzlement before shrugging and turning to the pantry to continue her original quest. Erik was a strange man. It was useless to try to understand him and if it were possible for him to find a way to help Reza, she would not begrudge him his eccentricities. 

Their stay in Ashraf lasted almost two months, and was mostly filled with magic and illusions that Erik performed to entertain Reza. 

Peacefulness penetrated everybody in Ashraf, oftentimes making it easy to forget the horrors that lay just three days from where they were staying. Reza’s laughter was contagious and his sickly pallor forgotten immediately when his signature smile graced his youthful features.

When Reza slept, however, a deep melancholy permeated every member of the household. One warm evening, after Selena had successfully convinced Reza that he had to rest after spending three hours trying to master the simple magic tricks Erik had taught him, she found Mr Khan and Erik speaking in parlour. They spoke in hushed tones, though Mr Khan kept repeating the same word over and over. She knew that word. No. 

She guessed that Erik had given Mr Khan some unsavoury news regarding Reza. Her suspicions were confirmed when Mr Khan broke into tears, falling heavily onto a chair. Erik watched uncomfortably before his eyes turned to look directly at her, hiding behind the door. He brought a finger up to his lips, urging her to remain silent, before subtly gesturing for her to leave, a wordless promise to explain everything in his eyes.

Later that night Erik knocked on her door. He did not enter, his sense of propriety still intact despite their unconventional relationship. He informed her that Reza had taken a toll for the worse, and though this had not gone unnoticed by Selena, she had not discerned the full extent. Erik told her that soon all his muscles would cease to function, including those that allow him to swallow, leaving him to die a slow and agonising death. He had six months to live at best, though Erik suspected that he was vastly overestimating the number.

He left Selena to mourn the boy. She did not sleep that night, far too horrified by the revelations she had received. 

For the next few days, every time she went to look for Reza, she found him playing with his father, who attentively provided for everything he needed. Unwilling to interrupt what would likely be a father’s last days with his only child.

Then the messenger came. The man informed Mr Khan that he was needed back in Tehran. Something about a murderer who had been apprehended in his absence. Meanwhile, Erik was ordered to go to Mazandaran, as the Shah feared that he was becoming lax in his duties as an architect. 

Reza cried when he was told that everyone had to leave. He clung to all, for even Darius had grown close to the boy, sobbing into their shoulders as the farewells were made. Selena, Erik and Mr Khan were all forced to leave the weeping child with the faithful servants, promising to return soon. Erik also promised to bring back a new automaton doll to complement the toy soldier that he had eventually successfully completed.

The four only rode together for a few minutes before Mr Khan turned his horse south, making his way back to the city with Darius. It was dangerous to travel alone, and the ever-faithful Darius had decided to accompany Mr Khan for fear that he might be attacked once again by thieves.

Selena and Erik’s journey was uneventful, only taking half a day to complete. They travelled in silence, Erik once again burying his nose in a book. Selena still had the copy of Frankenstein that Erik had lent her, though she was not as comfortable reading while on a horse as Erik was, preferring to enjoy the scenery, sparse as it was. Her turbulent journey to Tehran had not given her the opportunity to enjoy the beauty of deserts and she was surprised to find a certain serenity in the never-ending expanses of sand that stretched out before her, especially when she was so used to the cold dreariness of London.

She let her thoughts wander to what would happen once they arrived at Mazandaran and allowed her horse’s stride on the hot sand lull her into a land of daydreams.


	13. Mazandaran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter, I sure did!

Summer 1851, Mazandaran – Erik’s POV

As Mazandaran rose in the distance, Erik resisted the urge to groan. Despite not being able to see the details it already looked wrong. The builders were decent enough but could not properly understand the complexities of his blueprints, leading to rather unfortunate events in which he lost his temper. 

He arrived at Mazandaran and immediately swung off Orion, stomping towards the tent where the stone masons would undoubtedly be congregated. He vaguely heard Selena struggle off her horse and follow him but his mind was far too preoccupied with more important matters.

He snapped the tent flaps open and was unsurprised to find the architects discussing his old blueprints, trying in vain to decipher the complex equations. They instantly stopped talking as he stalked in and eyed him warily, knowing that they had unquestionably failed in their duties. Their eyes strayed immediately however, as Selena entered gracefully, pausing at Erik’s right shoulder. Not having seen women in months, the men eyed her hungrily, causing Erik to stand in front of her, glaring at the lusty men who averted their gaze in fear.

“The palace is a disgrace,” Erik addressed the men, “Several areas will have to be torn down and rebuilt–“

“But, sire,” one of the men bravely interrupted Erik, “we are already vastly over the budget–”

“We would not be if you were not so very moronic!” Erik roared. “Moreover, I have updated the blueprints and simplified them to your level of intelligence so this time you might not make as many mistakes.”

The men all nodded, promising to successfully create his perfect palace.

Erik sighed and led Selena out of the tent and into another much larger one that was positioned at the edge of the campsite, atop a dune that allowed for the best possible view.

Erik addressed Selena as they entered the luscious tent. “This is mine. You will have to stay here with me.” Sensing her protests he quickly continued. “These men haven’t seen their wives in months and I would not trust the restraint of common men. Prostitutes come sometimes but most are far too nomadic to stay for long. If you wish for your own tent I will provide you with one but, though they fear mine too much to enter, I cannot promise they will be so frightened of your own.”

Selena looked at him for several seconds before nodding her head in agreement. 

Erik let out a breath. “Excellent! I will arrange for an extra bed to be brought to us for your comfort. Now, there will be several rules while you stay here and please try to obey them lest you end up in a very compromising situation. You will not leave this tent without me or someone else I permit. If you do leave, you will stay by my side at all times. Finally, if any man says or does anything inappropriate you tell me at my earliest convenience. Understood?” Selena nodded her assent. “Good. Now, I must go find a new architect. These have proved highly unsatisfactory.” He made his way to the tent entrance before stopping and turning back to Selena. “Stay.”

The Shah’s spies had proven to be unreliable. It was perhaps time to find someone to keep an eye on the palace during his absence himself.

He made his way to the building site, stopping by a woodworker to request a bed on the way. Arriving at the site, he pulled a young stone mason aside. Erik had been watching the man since he began working and found his determination to be encouraging.

“Amir, correct?” he asked gruffly.

Amir shuddered in fear. “Yes, sire.”

“Good. I have a proposition for you. Would you be interested in a promotion?”

The man’s eyes brightened. Having just married, he was struggling to scrape by to provide for his wife, who he had learned was with child. “Excellent. I expect you at my tent in the morning.”

The man nodded and bowed before carrying on dutifully with his work. Yes, he would do much better.

Erik then turned back to the tent where the soon-to-be former architects would still undoubtedly be attempting to understand his work. 

They were so concentrated on his blueprints that they failed to notice him entering once again.

“You are dismissed,” Erik stated simply.

The men all looked up at him in alarm and confusion.

“Pardon?” One brave man spoke up.

“You are dismissed,” Erik repeated calmly.

“But sire, the Shah–“

“You proved unable to do your job time and time again. I tire of the constant delays. The Shah will not condemn my desire to have men I can depend upon to do their job. You are dismissed. Get out of my sight.”

The men scurried away, likely to pack their belongings, leaving Erik alone in the tent. Night was falling. The palace could wait until the next day. With a final longing look at his blueprints, Erik left the tent and returned to his own.

He was pleased to find the new bed already in the tent when he arrived, upon which Selena lounged lazily, staring blankly ahead of her. 

She smiled slightly at him as he entered. “A young man came to deliver the bed. He was very polite. I think his name is Amir? I am not sure.”

Erik nodded. “Ah, yes. He is a bright young man with a promising career in architecture should he choose to pursue it.” He shuffled uncomfortably. “I hope you do not mind... being in the same room as me to sleep.”

“We have found ourselves in far more compromising positions,” Selena chuckled, though her cheeks flushed bright red. Erik was glad to be wearing a mask, lest she see the heat that had suddenly flushed his own. Instead, he gulped and nodded.

“I have a busy day tomorrow,” he stuttered out, “I will retire early if you do not mind.”

He ignored Selena’s head shake and moved behind a screen to change into more suitable garments before hiding himself under the covers though he did not sleep, too acutely aware of the girl in the bed just a few feet away from him.

The next morning, as expected, Amir came to Erik’s tent.

“Good morning,” Erik began as he greeted the young man. “Come with us.”

Amir and Selena followed Erik as he led them through the maze of tents. He had allowed Selena to accompany him, simply so she would not complain of boredom, but was beginning to regret his decision as he noticed the leers she was receiving from the builders.

Amir’s eyes seemed to be the only ones that did not roam, which surprised Erik. The builders were not known for fidelity to their women, the daroga being the only man he knew that remained faithful to his wife, even after her death. Amir was certainly devoted to his own little wife.

He led them to the tent where the architects had convened and then turned to look at Amir. “I am in need of a new architect to assist me while I am gone. Would you be interested in the position?”

Amir gaped like a fish for a few seconds before regaining his composure. “I am humbled sire, but I am not an experienced architect, and I am young. Surely there are more capable men.”

Erik sighed. “I had experienced architects working for me, who were older and more experienced. However, age and knowledge made them lazy. I want someone who I can depend upon, not someone who knows everything.”

Amir squared his shoulders. “Well then, I will do my best, sire.” 

“Excellent,” Erik stated, clapping his hands together. “Come with me, I will show you what must be done.”

Leaving Selena to entertain herself, Erik directed Amir to a chair and spend the next few hours instructing him on architecture, until he was certain the man understood everything. Amir listened dutifully, asking questions in determination to succeed. 

After the instructions Amir immediately set off to instruct the workers of the change of plans and for the rest of the day the air was filled with the sounds of demolishing walls and shouting men. In the centre of the chaos stood Amir giving orders and in that moment Erik believed he had made the right choice.

A few weeks passed in similar fashion. Amir had indeed proven to be a reliable worker and building was proceeding more smoothly than ever. His tempered ego allowed him the courage to ask questions when confused so no errors were made and expenses diminished considerably.

The Shah had sent complaints at the dismissal of his former architects, uncomfortable to have no spies in Mazandaran but Erik was certain he would soon find another way to keep an eye on developments, and the success of the construction kept him agreeable to Erik’s changes.

Selena was Erik’s main concern. He had very little spare time in which he could entertain her and he could tell she was becoming increasingly bored. He had sought to teach her some Farsi but her skill for languages was depressingly limited and it would not be of much use to her either way. The men, wary of Erik’s wrath, avoided her as if she were the plague, though, much to Erik’s annoyance, their eyes still roamed. Only Amir stood comfortably in her presence, though the language barrier and Amir’s schedule did not allow for long periods of communication.

She had, thus far, obeyed his rules, fearful of the workers but Erik worried that boredom would lead her to do something foolish.

His fears were not irrational.

Erik returned to his tent after a long day overseeing construction with Amir only to find it eerily empty. Tired and frustrated he called out to Selena, thinking she was playing some kind of game but, receiving no response, he understood the situation he found himself in. She was gone.

Fearing that she had been whisked away by a licentious worker he began a frantic search through the campsite but she was not in any of the tents. None of the workers would have been courageous enough to ignore his vicious threats. 

Wandering aimlessly, he found himself at the half-finished palace. It was unnervingly dark and deserted, the workers having all retired for the night. Only the moon and the distant campfires of the campsite cast gloomy shadows upon the walls.

He was about to turn back when a shadow moved on an unfinished roof.

Erik climbed the scaffolding, thinking it to be a thief or spy but was utterly surprised to find Selena leaning carefully over the edge of the precipice to look at the campsite below.

Time slowed. Erik’s mind returned to a fateful evening years prior, under the full moon of Rome. A girl falling off an unfinished railing, her hair flowing about her face, her hand just an inch too far from reach.

Erik let out a startled yell, lunging to Selena, who, frightened, lost her balance and began falling backwards.

His heart clenched at the sense of déjà vu that flooded through him though this time he managed to grab Selena’s hand, pulling her far from the edge.

“What were you thinking?” he roared, shaking her trembling shoulders. “I told you to stay in the tent! That was all you had to do and you decide to ignore my warnings and wander to an unfinished building. What if something collapsed? You almost fell for God’s sake!”

“I only lost my balance because you startled me,” Selena shouted back. “I was bored. You all have something to do. I, on the other hand, have nothing. I was tired of sitting day in and day out on a bed reading the same books over and over and over–“

Erik recoiled. “I am trying to protect you, you foolish child!”

“Stop calling me that,” Selena cried. “You always call me that. I am not a child. I am barely a year younger than you. I was careful. I waited until all the workers were gone. No one saw me. I am going mad, Erik. Mad!”

Erik’s fury rose. “You spoilt girl! The world is far more dangerous than you could ever understand–“

“I can understand, Erik.” Selena’s cheeks were flushed in anger. “You are not the only one who has suffered.”

Erik let go of Selena, turning his back to her to regain his composure. How does she not understand?

“You were scared,” Selena muttered behind him in realisation.

Erik found some of his carefully built walls crumbling at her gentle tone. “I was terrified,” he admitted, turning to face her. “I came back to find you gone. I thought that one of the men had taken you and… and I hadn’t been there to protect you.”

Selena lowered her head in shame. “I’m sorry. I didn't want to scare you. I just wanted to do something different.”

Honesty and candidness didn't come naturally to Erik and it terrified him but it was one of the rare moments in life were it could not be avoided. “To be completely frank, Selena, I consider you to be a friend. Friendship to me is not a given, I am terrified of losing it… of losing you. But… but I understand if you do not consider us to be friends. I have been inexcusably brutish. I–“

“Erik,” Selena interrupted Erik’s rant with a small smile. “I consider you a friend as well, albeit an unconventional one. I’m very sorry that I frightened you.” Selena extended her hand to him. “Friends?”

Erik hesitated slightly before clasping her small hand in his gloved one and courageously bringing her hand to his lips. “Friends.”

Selena smiled so brightly that Erik felt that his pounding heart would beat right out of his chest. He had never had anyone who considered him a friend.

“Is it safe up here?” Selena questioned suddenly.

“Quite,” Erik replied softly, “so long as you stay away from the edge.” 

Selena laughed. Erik’s heart melted.

“The stars are beautiful. I never noticed. I spent most of my time in London and neither the weather nor the fog allow for stargazing,” Selena confessed.

Erik smiled gently at the beautiful girl who stood next to him, unafraid and was suddenly aware that her hand was still clasping his.

Erik shuffled slightly though he did not release her hand. “Would you like me to show you some constellations?”

Selena’s eyes brightened. “Yes, please.”

He lowered her to the ground and they laid down side by side, their hands, though no longer clasped together, still touched lightly. Erik pointed out constellations and regaled ancient stories of their origins while Selena smiled, her eyes shining brightly as she looked at the full moon. 

“Selena,” he began abruptly, “may I ask you a question?”

Selena frowned slightly. “Of course.”

“Your siblings all have such common names but yours is unique.”

Selena laughed. “I have been asked that question many times. My paternal great-grandparents were rather eccentric apparently and gave all their children unusual names. My grandmother’s name was Selena. She passed away three days before I was born. I was named in her honour.”

“I see,” Erik muttered, “It is a beautiful name. It means moon goddess in Greek. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” she replied shyly. “Erik is not a French name either.”

“No,” Erik murmured mournfully, “it is actually Norse. It means ruler or honourable king. I am neither.”

Selena frowned. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“It is true. I was meant to be named Charles after my father but my mother considered it to be a tainting of his memory so I was named after the priest who baptised me.”

Selena said nothing and Erik was glad. He did not want her pity. He did not want anyone’s pity. Slowly, she took his hand and squeezed it gently.

“Your mother was a fool.”

They did not speak after that. There was no need for words. They stared at the stars until Erik felt Selena’s breathing shallow and he carried her back to the tent. 

Anyone looking at the scene would’ve been reminded of the kidnapping of Persephone.


End file.
